


100 Moods Challenge

by Commander_Owl



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: 100 Moods Challenge, Alcohol, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Kink, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 64,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3191345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Commander_Owl/pseuds/Commander_Owl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost a year ago I decided to try myself at 100 Moods Challenge. Anyone interested in what ne the eart is this, should check it's page on LiveJournal -> http://100moods.livejournal.com/profile I'm not a part of the mentioned community, but the challenge itself seemed to me interesting enough to do this on my own.<br/>This work was previously published on my tumblr account -> http://commanderowl.tumblr.com/100moodschallengelist</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**20\. Crazy**   
_Affected with madness; insane._

  
It wasn't like Spy was against Demomen in general – naturally, they were obnoxious, loud and completely uncivilised creatures, but they were also honourable professionals, what made them truly valuable assets to any team. He could work with them and their presence on the battlefield saved his skin too many times. But this particular Scot made agent die a little bit inside every time he was forced to fight alongside with him. The man looked ridiculous (really, pirate hat, golden earring, sculls attached to the front of his vest and the KILT?! That had to be a _joke_ ), fought like a rabid dog, and his laughter was bringing to mind pictures of some mental asylum or fishy laboratory somewhere in Carpathian Mountains, but what seemed to be the most unbalanced part of his degenerated mind, was the imperative to destroy more turrets than anyone else. Intelligencer, as a specialist in the field of sapping RED Engineer's toys, laughed his efforts off, but that hadn't stopped Cyclops from trying. During every single mission Highlander was mercilessly haunting poor labourer and destroying his precious constructions, but no matter how much effort he was putting into this madness, at the end of the day he wasn't able to beat Frenchman's score. At the beginning, masked mercenary was simply ignoring the whole affair as insignificant, but as the months passed, he was getting more and more fond of that senseless but also very entertaining contest. And that was how their little game turned into a great rivalry of two men too stubborn to stop. But, no matter how much they like to compete with each other, from time to time even they had to sign a non‑aggression pact and work together to get rid of the sentry guns in the Intel Room.  
“Hou bad is it?” Explosion expert reloaded his grenade launcher and looked at the infiltrator, who was on the other side of wide door leading into spacious chamber.  
They were trapped here – for some reason (known also as a Heavy and Medic wandering together through the base) they took less direct approach, but that also meant they couldn't go back the same way they came here. Well, Scot could to jump on his bomb to get out of there, but for agent the only option was deadly walk between two armed turrets and that was definitely a no go. The architect who designed Double Cross was probably really proud of himself.  
“Two complete sets of constructions,” Spy sighed heavily, and also checked the barrel of his weapon. “ And one sentry has a shield.”  
“Aw cripe.” Demoman shook his head.  
“My sentiments exactly.”  
“Awricht, here's whit we'll dae.” Scot coughed and tilted his head, eliciting silent crack from his a bit stiff neck. “A get thair attention, sae ya can sap that crap an we caw it a day.”  
That was a pure madness, to put it lightly. Of course respawn system was invented for situations like this one, making suicide missions not permanently deadly, but still it was rather stupid and reckless plan. It was impossible to enter that room and survive, Cyclops had to know that! And, what wasn't surprising, that one-eyed psychopath seemed to be completely OK with it. Ridiculous! The man wasn't known for his mental health, but even he should be reluctant to do something like this. That was... That was completely crazy! But it wasn't like they had any other option. It was this or loosing the round, so the final decision was rather obvious, even if somehow painful, especially for one of them.  
“Let's do this.” Agent nodded and activated his watch. “See you later.”  
“Guid luck.” For the first time since they met, grenadier's smile was wide and genuine, like he was talking to a friend not a rival.

  
**48\. Guilty**   
_Suffering from or prompted by a sense of guilt._

  
It would be a great overstatement to call that rushed strategy 'perfect', but on the other hand, Spy was forced to work with even worse plans, so in the greater scheme of thing that particular situation wasn't the worst he was forced to deal with. Besides, there was no point in criticizing things that seemed to work – both Engineers were so busy with their attempts at killing Demoman, that they hadn't noticed when their precious _enfants_ got some nasty sappers on them. After that, it was only a matter of two back-stabs and then _voilà_! The room was completely empty and the briefcase was left without any guard.  
“We got the Intel, I need an escort. _Now_.” Agent hoped that at last one person will hear him over the comm. “Cyclops, how are you doing?”  
At any other given moment we would find silence quite eligible, but this time it seemed to be rather... Intimidating. Scot never was a quite person and even in agony he had still enough strength to scream or complain (or even worse, make excuses), so the lack of proper answer could mean only one thing – his companion was dead. Since there was still functioning respawn system, it wasn't something to worry about, but still for some reason intelligencer felt his throat constricting at the thought of grenadier's decease. Even if he knew that making Highlander into shooting duck was a part of their plan, masked mercenary wasn't too found of the final outcome. No matter how much he disliked his one-eyed companion, that was _their_ victory and both of them should be able to walk out of there with the Intel in hand. But, unfortunately that wasn't meant to happen, what made him strangely upset.  
“Cyclops...?”  
Even if for unknown reason Frenchman felt sorry for his team-mate, he also had some priorities, and objectives of their current mission were on the top of his to-do list. He simply hadn't _time_ to look for his partner and help him – Spy had only seconds before the whole RED team will be after him, so he had to run away from the enemy base as fast as he only could. That's why the master of disguise finally grabbed the documents and moved out, trying to avoid incoming opponents. Thankfully, his escort finally arrived in person of roaring Soldier, and together they managed to deliver the briefcase without any other casualties.  
The second the Intel was finally secured, agent went to the supply room in search for Highlander. He knew that it was probably futile, since respawn worked way faster than he was able to run from the other side of the railway, but still he hoped for any sign that bombardier was successfully revived. Not like he had to be worried about him – Scot was a big boy and he could take care of himself – but still... He just had to know.  
 _He should be back by now._  
“Scout, have you seen Demo?” Once again intelligencer put some faith in rather hectic system of their internal communication.  
“Um... No?” Explosions in the background indicated that the runner was rather busy at the moment, but as usual boy proved himself to be master of multitasking. “Not since you guys went to destroy turrets in the Intel room. Why?”  
 _He's still there._  
“Are you sure?” Frenchman felt like the knot in his stomach wandered a bit higher towards his heart. “And the others? Anyone?”  
“Nein.” Medic seemed to be a bit irritated. “No one has seen him recently. And, as a friendly reminder, unlike you ve are quite busy at ze moment, so stop asking stupid questions and get your striped ass over here!”  
 _I left him there._

  
**60\. Lonely**   
_Without companions; lone._

  
He was dying. Even if he couldn't feel the pain anymore, he still knew that his body was too damaged to keep him alive for much longer. Sounds were almost muted and mostly distorted, the sense of touch was reduced to simple acknowledgement of being there, and the only thing he could see was his own blood, making his surroundings crimson and blurred. There was no point in looking for any help – with all of those wounds and other kind of internal damage he wouldn't even make it upstairs, not to mention the nearest spawn of supplies. He was on his own now.  
Alone. Like he should be.  
 _Why daed thay left me? Tay daena luve me?_  
On this battlefield no wound, no fracture, not even death were permanent. In the blink of an eye he'll be back to normal like nothing happened, so there was no point in being upset about that cold darkness approaching his mind and soul. They were good friends after all – from the murk he came, and he was destined to go back there at some point. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But still, it was hard not to be at last a bit terrified, when once again he was dying completely alone.  
Just like he deserved.  
 _Look what you did. They loved you and you... You killed them, you monster!_  
There was not even one person who would cry for him when the time finally will come. Even his own mother wouldn't share a tear at his grave. It wasn't like she didn't love him (because she did, even if she expressed it in her own way), but that tough woman was simply too proud to admit in public that she gave a birth to someone who failed so terribly. Since the very beginning of his lonely life it was obvious that he will be be forgotten and buried in complete silence, like he never existed.  
Because he didn't. Did he?  
“Cyclops, how are you doing?”  
Someone... Remembered about him? No, it couldn't be – there was no one who could possibly be aware of the fact that he was there. Only Spy knew... But... No, he wouldn't lower himself to call for him, right? That posh dandy wasn't someone who would bother with people he despised from the very bottom of his black heart. Besides, if everything went fine, agent had no time to waste; the Intel was too important to look for someone who was probably already dead. It... It simply couldn't be _him_. Probably it was nothing more than just miserable hallucination of broken, slowly dissolving mind.  
“Cyclops...?”  
But it was him. Infiltrator really called for him. Scot had absolutely no idea, why his sophisticated not-colleague-at-all would do such thing, but still he was strangely happy. It was the first time since he joined BLU when he wasn't dying completely alone and abandoned. For once deceasing wasn't a cold act of panic and painful memories haunting his thoughts – instead of them the only thing he was feeling was... Peace.

  
**6\. Apathetic**   
_Feeling or showing a lack of interest or concern; indifferent._

  
Everything was... Dull. And it wasn't only because lounge near the infirmary was rather plain room with sterile walls and absolutely no décor at all – for some reason Spy wasn't able to get interested in absolutely anything. Neither newspaper, nor music coming from old, cracking radio, not even a book were able to wake him up from this sluggish, stupor-like state. The only thing agent really was able to do, was just sitting there and waiting until Medic will sew Demo back together, and he'll be finally able to kill him again for being so reckless bastard.  
 _I left him there._  
He had no reason to feel guilty. First of all, there was no way he could help Scot back there, even if he knew that one-eyed _crétin_ was still alive. Besides, they weren't there for fun – the Intel needed to be found and secured, and that was exactly what he did. He _had_ to do this. The mission was their highest priority, and there was nothing what couldn't be sacrificed in the name of winning the round. Second, they weren't even friends. This time they cooperated, yes, that's true, but that was the first time they did something like that and probably it will be also the last one – even if their partnership resulted in rather smashing victory, they still were completely incompatible as people. Given this, his actions were not only pragmatic, but also reasonable. End of the story.  
So, why he was so numb? Why he wasn't able to go back to his normal life like he usual did? Why in the world he was sitting here, waiting for something, what should be utterly meaningless to him? He didn't know that. And, what was the worst part, he couldn't force himself to at last find any answers.  
“Yo, dad.” Scout plopped onto the bench beside him, watching him with interested eyes he inherited from his dear mother. “Whaddya doin' here?”  
“I'm sitting here, as you can see.” Infiltrator sighed heavily, watching with slight concern his one and only son's bruised knees and dirty socks.  
“Whoa, somethin' happened?” Runner was genuinely surprised. “Usually ya'd be tryin' to _kill_ me for callin' ya 'dad' in da base.”  
“Nothing happened.” Frenchman weaved his hand like he was trying to chase away an annoying insect. “I'm just... Waiting.”  
“... Ya think I'm _that_ stupid?” Kid rolled his eyes, probably mimicking his mother (or worse - Medic). “What, ya feel sorry for Demo? Ya looked like a ghost when Solly finally brought him back.”  
“Of course I don't.” He sighed, trying not to remember the view of bloody offals which were supposed to be Scot's body. Naturally his perfectly organised and composed mind was able to stand such horror, but his soul screamed in shock, trying to cope with the overwhelming feeling of guilt, turning him into absolutely indifferent doll he was now. “What happened... Just happened.” Master of disguise sighed heavily after a while, once again trying to justify his previous decisions. “There's nothing good or wrong about that.”  
“So... Why ya're waitin' here?” Scout tilted his head, trying to look him into eyes.  
 _I left him._  
“I'd like to know.”

  
**17\. Confused**   
_Perplexed by many conflicting situations or statements._

  
“You're still here?” Medic sounded quite surprised, seeing them in the waiting room. “I thought you vere gone a long of time ago.”  
“How is he?” Spy tried to sound as neutral as it was physically possible.  
“He's fine.” Doctor rolled his eyes with annoyance. “Zere's nothing vhat can't be repaired vith ze respavn or tvo.”  
“Ya _killed_ him?!” Runner almost felt from the bench. “For real?!”  
“Of course I didn't.” Physician smiled viciously and folded his arms on his chest, watching the youngest member of the team with satisfaction. “I just vanted to see your face.”  
“You're a bad, bad person, pal.” Kid looked at their European colleague with disgust indicating that there will be an attempt on poor doctor for that joke.  
“ **Ja** , my ex-vife told me so.”  
That was Scout's final trigger – the boy leapt up from his seat and jumped onto quite surprised sawbones, screaming and hissing like a furious cat. Maybe it wasn't the most graceful or dignified attack, but still it was rather impressive one, and agent decided to observe the scene for a moment, trying to decide if he's interested in his child well-being or not. After few seconds he finally decided, that he already wasn't perfect father and he may as well stop pretending to be a genuinely concerned parent.  
“May I see him?” His son or not, Frenchman didn't come here because of family affairs – he had something else in mind, and he should finally get to the point. The boy was adult mercenary after all, he could take care of himself, so intelligencer decided to flee before there will be any causalities.  
“Yes, of course.” Medic sighed, trying to get the batter off himself. “Just be careful, he might be sober, so I can't guarantee he'll behave normal.”  
As a professional infiltrator with many years of experience he should be prepared for everything, from cold indifference to intense loathing, but he had serious troubles with predicting possible outcomes, when it was Demo he was thinking about. Scot's character and moods were rather hectic, to put it lightly, and it was almost impossible to guess, what he'll do this time.  
And, as it transpired really soon, Highlander decided to be... Glad.  
“Guidd tae see ye, lad.” Cyclops smiled widely, clearly unmoved by the fact he was still in hospital pyjamas which could hardly safe his modesty. “Are ye awricht?”  
“... Yes.” Frenchman felt a bit lost when the man, who usually treated him like a necessary evil (to his defence the feeling was mutual), was suddenly so friendly. Maybe the sedatives were still affecting his cognitive abilities? “I see you are in shape as well.”  
“Doc tauld me ye gat the Intel.” Grenadier jumped off the bed and looked around, like he was looking for something, but after few seconds he gave up. “Guid job.”  
“So, I suppose you're not angry at me for leaving you there?” Spy really, really tired to be nonchalantly bored, but he had a strange feeling that his face betrayed him this time.  
“Nae. Shoud A?” Demolition expert seemed to be genuinely surprised.  
“I guess not.” Agent cleared his throat, hoping to cover previous failure at hiding his true feelings. “I was just checking.”  
“Sae... See ye the morn?” Scot smiled to him, his face strangely bright and chummy for once.  
“Yes... Bye.”  
 _That was... Strange._


	2. Chapter 2

**10\. Bored**   
_Uninterested because of frequent exposure or indulgence._

  
He had to admit that missions get far less exciting since Cyclops decided to be... The way he was now. For some reason grenadier not only dropped his vicious and aggressive attitude towards his fellow intelligencer, but also gave up their sweet, little game of destroying turrets. Now he was constantly somewhere in the field, tormenting poor enemy Snipers and spamming railway with sticky bombs. Even if that strategy was rather effective (or at last it lowered amount of sudden headshots), it still wasn't anything Frenchman counted on – without their little rivalry his job lost a lot of its charm. And that was simply unacceptable! Well, on the other hand, now his contacts with this uncivilised one-eyed brute became really sporadic, what wasn't all that bad. Certainly he could be happy without odour of booze, unintelligible gibberish and the lack of any manners whatsoever. But still... Masked mercenary really missed the excitement coming from their vigorous quarrels and comparing scores.  
With a heavy sight of disappointment infiltrator turned towards Australian assassin bleeding on the floor like a pig in a slaughterhouse.  
“So, that's how it is.” Spy shrugged, wiping off his balisong. “Would you believe that this... This creature force me to lower myself to killing _you_? I mean, you're professional and I respect that, but tell me, what's the fun in murdering someone who's so oblivious to his environments?”  
“Mate, Oi hate to break the news to you, but you're a nut case.” Bushman whined, trying to reach his kukri, but after few futile attempts he gave up and looked at his enemy with disdain. “Can't you just kill me already, wanker?”  
“Kill you, kill you.” Agent hissed with irritation. “Really? That's everything you got for me? Do you really think, that there's nothing more in all of this chaos than just... killing?”  
“... Will answering that question make you finally finish me?” Sniper rose one eyebrow and tilted his head.  
“ _Non_.” Intelligencer rolled his eyes. “Unless you promise to die in some amusing way.”  
“... I give up.” Rifleman bashed his forehead against the floor. “Just do what you want, I don't care anymore.”  
“You're no fun.” Master of disguise nudged his prey with a tip of polished Italian shoe.  
“Piss off.”  
He couldn't deny it anymore – there was only one person in this whole base, who was able to make his life interesting again, and unfortunately it was none other but the Demoman himself. Without his input Frenchman wasn't able to truly enjoy the missions and even backstabbing people wasn't as funny as it used to be, which was really alarming symptom. With that realisation, he came to only one possible conclusion – he had to get his nemesis back. And he had to do this really soon.

  
**2\. Amused**   
_Pleasantly occupied._

  
Spy, as a perfect gentleman, would absolutely never admit that in fact he was a sadistic and even a bit cruel man, nevertheless at times like that it was hard to hide his true nature not only from himself, but also his co-workers. Since the very beginning of his eventful and complicated life he found a biggest pleasure in observing other's misery – just like he was doing now, watching concentrated Demoman.  
“You'll die, you know it?” Agent teased, glancing at sticky bombs perfectly placed on the very edge of the gallery which usually was occupied by their currently deceased Sniper.  
“Clam up.” Scot looked at him with annoyance, and once again checked his precious missiles, like it could change anything. What a funny man, really...  
“I must admit, that's it's really inspiring to see still trying to learn how to jump on these things. Believe me, if the effort could be graded, you'd earn A+. That said, I still suggest you to give up on the idea and once again take the longer route.” Intelligencer smiled viciously, knowing that with every word Cyclops was more and more irritated.  
“A said, _clam up_!”  
“I know it can be really hard for you to admit that, but there's absolutely no way to prove me wrong.” Frenchman took out his cigarettes and sighed heavily, making his statement more dramatic. “You won't survive that, believe me.”  
This time grenadier didn't bother with silencing him and simply pushed the button on his detonator, jumping over the bombs. Well, to be honest, this time he really had chances to succeed, but unfortunately he also forgot that he wasn't completely alone on the battlefield. Before one-eyed mercenary managed to take off and fly above the railway, enemy rifleman aimed and mercilessly shot him down. Infiltrator smiled to himself, listening to the blustery scream of his dying team-mate and then chuckled darkly, when damaged, but miraculously still alive body hit the lower railway with a loud thud. Unlike Demoman, Spy was perfectly aware of the RED's assassin presence, but decided not to say a word about it – even if the final result was fatal for his poor companion, watching this little show was... entertaining.  
“BLOODY SPY!”  
 _Very entertaining._

  
**72\. Pensive**   
_Deeply or seriously thoughtful._

  
Maybe being thoughtful during making a morning tea for his mother wasn't the best possible idea in the world, but Demoman wasn't known for choosing the right moment and place for doing things. Especially when it came to personal matters, which definitely flustered him – his social skills never perfectly developed, to put it lightly, and sometimes it was hard for him to copy with certain matters. Like, for example, his masked team-mate.  
Scot knew, what does it mean to be angry or filled with raging hate. He was an object of an intense loathing since the day he was abandoned at the door of orphanage, and as the time passed, he learned how to make this feeling mutual, notably when it came to the people who thought they are better than him. That's was the very reason why he despised their Spy so much – it wasn't because the man did something to him (that jack-a-dandy would never waste his time to act on his disdain towards dirty peasants), but the way agent _looked_ at him made Cyclops infuriated the second he met him. Everything about the man was posh and annoying, from that slim cigarette glued to his mouth, to the tips of his overpriced shoes, and the personality that was placed somewhere in between didn't make the whole picture any better. The man was the biggest douche-bag grenadier's ever met, and probably he wasn't the only one, who had similar opinion abut this smug bastard.  
But still, even if they had more than just one reason to hate each other, at that one moment they were real partners. They... They could do _everything_. There was no obstacle that could stop them, no opponent who could beat them. And, what was the strangest part, he didn't know that he had missed this feeling. Since he could remember, he was working alone and even joining BLU didn't change that much – of course he was a part of a crew and he even eagerly participated in so-called teamwork, but what happened that time between them was something more than simple cooperation. That was _partnership_.  
Since then, he couldn't bring himself to hate their intelligencer as much as he used to. It wasn't like Highlander suddenly decided to become best friends with the man, nothing of that, but he wasn't so angry at him anymore. And, when his abhorrence vanished, he found himself unable to continue their pointless rivalry, so he decided to pay his attention to mission's objectives for a change. He supposed that it would be for the best for all of the team, but as the time passed, he discovered that there was one person who disagreed. Namely that stinky Frenchman.  
Infiltrator never was a nice person, but now he was... Simply childish. Every time Demo decided to do something useful for a change, that supercilious chancer showed up with his oh so witty and sassy comments, making concentrating on blowing things up strangely complicated and even impossible at times. For the first few missions grenadier tried to stay calm, but his patience started growing rather thin, and now he was only one step away from killing that two-faced _quidnunc_ with his bare hands.  
“Murt!” Scotsman shout when the hot water spilled all over his hands, which was to be predicted.  
“Whit's wrang Tavish?”  
“Naething, ma.” He hissed and put swelling fingers into the sink.  
“Something bathers ye?”  
“Are ye simply bored or actually interestit in me preevat life?” He rose one eyebrow as the col water soothed his pain.  
“Awthing whit can get ye fired is my concern.” She snorted with dignity. “Or mebbe ye're awready unemployed an ye daena knaw hou tae tell me aboot it, huh? Like whan ye poukit oot yer awn eye tae hide the fact that ye daedna get a job during Halloween?”  
“Nae ma, A'm arena fired.” Cyclops sighed heavily and finally filled tea-pot with the remnants of a water that was still in the kettle. “Juist... Ane o my co-workers acts streengely an A daena knaw whit tae dae wi him.”  
“Blaw him up. That ayeweys wirks.”  
“It winna kill him, believe me.” He smiled to himself and opened the cupboard. “Besides, A howp tae find the reason ahint aw of this. Dae ye want a wee mug or the big ane?”  
“A wee ane. Sae, whit he's daein that it bathers ye sae muckle?”  
“He distribbles me during missions. Shaws up frae nae place, tries tae talk tae me, an than disappears like naething happenet.” Grenadier carefully put all of dishes on the tray and finally leaved the kitchen. “An whan A try tae relax in me free time...”  
“Whit free time? If ye hiv some time tae waste, ye shoud get more jobs!”  
“A'll get one, A promise.” He sat down on the arm of the chair and patted her shoulder. “Ye want some biscuits?”  
“Nae, thank ye.” Although she was incapable of smiling, somehow he knew that she's pleased. She would never admit it, but as every mother she was happy when her son was with her. “A think yer colleague tries tae get yer attention. Dae ye remember the time, when ye blew up hauf of yer schuil tae make me and yer father notice ye? A think he's daein the same thing, juist less effectively.”  
Well... Even if she got all of this history with the accident during chemistry class wrong (like usual, by the way), still she had a point there. Now, when Demo thought of Spy's recent actions, it was rather obvious what that masked gallant was trying to achieve. Actually, it wasn't much of a surprise – of course agent wanted to stay invisible on the battlefield, but _after_ the mission he couldn't stand being ignored by anyone, Medic's doves included. Every one had to know he was in the room, no matter if he was participating in some group activities like traditional poker night, or he was just sitting there, pretending that he doesn't care about anything. But why he was so desperate to make Scotsman notice him? That was the mystery of the century.

  
**24\. Cynical**   
_Believing or showing the belief that people are motivated chiefly by base or selfish concerns._

  
To be honest, he had no idea what to do with this one-eyed, unpredictable madman. For a few weeks Demo has been ignoring him completely, consequently depriving him from the pleasure of participating in their little game, but now that insolent drunkard changed his strategy and became... Friendly. Suddenly Scot was eager to cooperate with him during missions, always asked him how he was doing and, what was the worst part of all of it, that uncivilised Highlander even tried to start a proper conversation. Spy could stand a lot of things, but that amount of uncalled consorting was too much for him to believe that Cyclops' actions were genuine.  
 _People aren't friendly without a reason._  
That was the one and only truth he has ever believed. People were absolutely selfish by definition and even their so called 'altruism' was nothing more but a clever tactic of survival. There was only one person unaffected by this rule, but She was that one exception that existed only to validate the thesis. Every other human being acted upon their egoism, what was cruel and natural at the same time. That said, grenadier was _definitely_ hiding something, and agent just had to discover what it was. And, even if he found it immensely humiliating, he had to lower himself to actually spending time near the bombardier to observe that madman's behaviour.  
And he wasn't amused with the results.  
During missions intelligencer stayed invisible for most of the time, observing and making mental notes, always somewhere behind Demo's back, even if it was rather dangerous sometimes – the man was completely out of his mind, and his tactics usually were rather explosive mix of danger, screams, blowing up random objects and getting into trouble. But still, even if his attacks were more of a ploys than actual assaults, he still managed to get some spectacular kills, making even sceptical infiltrator stunned. But underneath of this efficient chaos was something wild and desperate, like Scot's soul lacked in need of staying alive. He wasn't risking his life – he simply didn't care about the consequences of his actions. Of course with the respawn technology it wasn't as crazy as it would be under normal circumstances, but even if getting killed wasn't the end of the road for them, the pain was still real. And despite that, Cyclops seemed to be completely indifferent to his wounds and burns, risking his life without any second guesses. What Frenchman initially took for a mental illness, in reality was something else, something that was too dark and frightening to have a name. Mostly because grenadier wasn't a “mad” man – just really damaged one.  
 _Broken people always have their secrets._  
And when infiltrator finally decided to reveal himself, explosion expert's eye suddenly got a bit brighter than usual and that vicious demon for a second lost his power over Highlander's mind, which was rather strange. Not so long ago their meetings were as unfriendly as it was only possible, but now Demoman sometimes even smiled to him, offering his assistance in getting into enemy's Intel room.  
 _And smile is the best mask in the world._  
And even when once again they found themselves in deadlock underneath their bases, trying not only to keep that damned suitcase, but also stay alive, masked mercenary was still trying to understand, why in the world Scotsman decided to use his own shoulder as a shield to save his comrade's life. There had to be some hidden reason for this sacrifice, but Spy couldn't imagine, what kind of wicked motivation could lie behind such desperate and painful attempt at keeping him safe. The blood on the floor and walls tried to prove honesty of Cyclops' actions, but for agent it wasn't enough. He needed something more, he needed something what couldn't be turned into theatrical gesture.  
 _Because believing in human kindness was a weakness._

  
**22\. Crushed**   
_Subdued or brought low in condition or status._

  
When the dynamic duo of turret destroyers finally managed to carry the last suitcase to the BLU base, they could barely stand, not to mention such complicated operations as walking. They were almost completely covered in blood, both their own and their enemies, but neither of them could let go of that damned Intel. Too many bullets pierced their uniforms and skin for them to just give up and let other take care of winning the last round. Nevertheless, when the mission was finally over and there was no point in keeping up false pretences, they both just flopped on the floor, completely ignoring loud whistles and triumphant screams of their happy team-mates.  
“Ye awricht?” Demo leaned against him, trying to put a smile on his bruised and tired face.  
“This is the stupidest question I've ever heard.” Spy sighed, trying to ignore the pain caused by Scot's weight against his dislocated shoulder. “And remember, I'm relatives with _Scout_.”  
“It's easy tae forget aboot it.” Scot chuckled and tried to get up, but his usual complete set of two legs now were reduced to one and the half, which resulted in rather pathetic fall on the floor. “Cripe.”  
“Maybe it will teach you not to cover me every time someone shoots at us.” Agent sighed, and carefully relocated himself to be closer to him. “It's not like I don't appreciate that, I'm really grateful in fact, but it's simply ridiculous. Why do you even do that?”  
Maybe it wasn't the most suave and diplomatic way of getting the answers he wanted to receive, but intelligencer was far too exhausted to give a damn about it. In fact, he suspected that being straightforward was the best strategy of talking with this drunk madman, so it was worth a shot. He wasted a lot of time for silent observations and they gave him nothing, so it was probably the right time to actually get some informations.  
“'Cause A daena want ye tae get killt.” Cyclops tried to sit, but it turned out that Frenchman's assistance is absolutely necessary to complete that task.  
“I'm touched.” Masked mercenary rolled his eyes, cursing that damned protective vest. Was it made of concrete, or what? How the man was even able to breath under that armour?!  
“And thanks tae ye A wisna alane.” Grenadier smiled, and rested his forehead on his comrade's shoulder. “And A'm arena alane nou.”  
It was obvious, that the man was once again dying on him, and to be honest, infiltrator was somehow terrified by that revelation. The sight of his team-mates' sudden decease was integral part of the every mission and he was more than used to it, but this time it made him feel strangely intimidated, like the man who was leaning against him was someone dear to him. Of course it wasn't true – they weren't even friends – but still... That almost resigned, faded voice made his black, merciless heart die a bit. No one should be that tired. No one should be that sad. And definitely no one in this whole world should be used to the idea of being abandoned.  
Despite all of his disdain towards the Demoman, Frenchman scooped that lunatic closer to his chest and nuzzled his temple, whispering calm, soothing words he remembered from his childhood. He had no real reason to be so emotional, and actually he had no idea why Scot's last breath was so painful to him. Maybe it was because he still remembered, how it was to be completely alone. How it was to be dying alone. And how it was to be saved.  
 _But there's no one who would like to save Demo._


	3. Chapter 3

**8\. Awake**   
_Not in a state of sleep; completely conscious._

  
The nights were never quiet in Boston, but at this point Spy was used to that. When he debarked here many years ago, broken, alone and miserable, he couldn't stand this loud, far too flashy place. As the years passed by, agent grow rather fond of that filled with lights city, and eventually coming back here was something he was looking forward. But not only the city he loved – the calm air in a small apartment, dimmed light in the kitchen when the clock on the wall was telling him that he should be sleeping and the feeling of belonging here were everything he needed. Here was his place. His home.  
Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried to relax and forget about his work and Double Cross, one thing was still coming back to him, forcing him to stay wide awake and bothered. To be honest, intelligencer didn't want to think about _him_. Frenchman wasn't able to find in that particular human being anything, what was worth the effort of getting to know him better as a person, not an amusing nemesis. The man was hot-blooded, barely conscious and constantly balancing on the very thin line between the reality and madness, and the only virtue he was showing was bravery (which in infiltrator's opinion was rather honourable form of stupidity). But still... Despite himself, Spy had some feelings towards that uncivilised Scot and he had absolutely no idea how to call them, or what to do with this mess.  
“Ya're not sleepin'?” The calm voice, almost whisper startled him, like he was caught on doing something wrong. Of course _She_ had to be awake.  
“... And you?” He turned around to see Her entering the kitchen. “Don't you have work tomorrow?”  
“Nah, Susan took my shift.” She smiled gently and sat on the chair next to him. “So? What's wrong?”  
“Why do you think that there has to be something wrong?” This time unmasked mercenary rolled his eyes and sighed. “Everything is just fine.”  
“Darlin', I'm not yer wife or anythin', but don'tcha dare to lie to me.” Her voice was calm but underneath of the usual warm something dark and cruel tried to emerge, like always when he tried to hide something from her. “I kno' ya, even bettah than ya kno' yerself, and it's not so hard to notice that something's troublin' ya since ya came here.”  
“What did that little brat tell you?”  
“I don't need our son to spy on ya. I can do it by myself.”  
Sometimes agent wished he was able to love Her like She deserved, but then he usually had to remind himself, they simply weren't good for each other. That woman was like a goddess in the skin of a sinner and there was absolutely no one who could make Her surrender. She was a beautiful, hard-working, independent single mother with eight sons (and every one of them had a different father) and She walked tall like a queen or a conqueror. She was above such things as gossips and talking behind Her back, and no matter what people thought of Her, there was no way to make Her change Her ways. And he... He always wanted something She just couldn't give him.  
“I... I can't forget someone, who in fact I hate and despise from the bottom of my heart.” He confessed finally, knowing that there was no point in avoiding the subject. “No matter how hard I try, I can't stop thinking about him.”  
“Did ya fell for him?” She tilted her head, looking at him with curiosity tingling in her big, blue eyes.  
“Of course I didn't” Intelligencer snarled impulsively, but then he remembered who he was talking to. “Maybe. I really hope not. He's... The most obnoxious, rough and insufferable person I've ever met. And remember, that I had to deal with _all_ of your children.”  
“So... What's the deal wi' him? It's not like ya to waste yer time on someone ya don't find at last amusin'.”  
“... I just can't stop to think about him. About the way he looks at me, when he thinks I watch someone else. How hard he tried to beat me in my own game despite the fact, that he was failing time after time. There's something unsettling in his eye when he rushes to the battlefield, like there was no point in trying to save himself from any harm.” He had no idea why, but remembering their previous interactions made him suddenly a bit sad. “And... I have the strange feeling that he needs someone to take care of him. Like you took care of me a long of time ago.”  
“I s'ppose there's not much ya can do.” She sighed and took his cigarettes from the table. “Ya can try to forget about all of those things, but that would mean ya won't see me eva' again, 'cause I can't stand cowards. Or ya can approach him and find out what's goin' on in his head.”  
“And then what?” Intelligencer sighed heavily. “What if I... Misunderstood his intentions?”  
“Well, in that case you'll kill him.” She shrugged and bowed her head as he offered her a light. “'Cause ya won't survive lovin' someone without bein' loved back.”  
“Things would be much simpler if I could love you.” He murmured, watching dark strands of smoke.  
“No, darlin', ya kno it wouldn't.” She chuckled. “Because I jus' can't love ya the way ya want me to.”

  
**26\. Determined**   
_Marked by or showing determination; resolute._

  
Even if She got all of this affair with “love” wrong (what an absurd!), She still had a point – Spy had to do something about the Demoman, and the only way of achieving this was a direct approach, or at last one a bit more direct than simply walking behind his back and throwing witty comments. That stubborn Scot seemed to be strangely immune to sophisticated suggestions and treated them as a really good hidden threat or mockery (well, to his defence, for most of the times he was right), making any suave plans completely pointless. That's why agent for the first time since he started his work in Double Cross decided to pay Cyclops a visit at his private sanctuary in Highlander's infamous makeshift distillery. Maybe it wasn't the best place for cultural discussions, but still it was _grenadier's_ territory, so that one-eyed bastard should feel safe and comfortable there, what would make the whole process of talking with him much easier. With that resolution intelligencer leaved the main building and entered the maze of wooden sheds behind their base, trying not to trip over some metal pieces left by the Engineer's last experiment with Australium and one a bit too enthusiastic turret.  
And as usual, it's easier to be said than done – no matter how hard he tried to fight his resistance, it was really difficult for him to cross the threshold of the rickety construction, which smelled like the ocean of cheap, contaminated booze. He always fought of himself as a man of culture, class and refinement, and such place was for him true _terra incognita_. But still, no matter how much Frenchman was disgusted by the very thought of entering that stinky shed, he had to do this if he wanted to discover the dark secrets behind Demoman's mind. Taking a deep breath he finally entered the hut, hoping that despite all of his sins _bon Dieu_ had a little mercy upon him.

  
**92\. Surprised**   
_Taken unaware or suddenly and feeling wonder or astonishment._

  
Slow, quiet afternoons in company of an interesting book were exactly what his mother always disapproved, and maybe that was the main reason why Scotsman liked them so much. It wasn't like he was lazy (in fact, three jobs made him not only wealthy, but also really busy person), but there was something addicting in slow, almost liquid hours flowing through his little shed, in which he stationed his private distillery. Besides, it wasn't like he was completely wasting his time, oh no, that would be definitely too much. Maybe his current occupation wasn't the one which would earn him money, but despite that, he was doing something useful – research and learning new things were an integral parts of his job, so it almost counted as an actual work, right?  
“Sorry to 'pop-in' unannounced...”  
Since the word 'fear' split up with grenadier's idiolect a long of time ago and run away in unknown direction, it wasn't easy to really scare him, but still it didn't take much to startle brave Highlander, especially when he expected to be completely alone in the comfort of his solitude. That was quite reasonable explanation for a sudden phenomenon of a book flying across the room and really surprised specimen of a Black Scottish Cyclops.  
“... Most of people don't react like that when they see me.” Agent froze in place for a split second, but after initial shock he nonchalantly crouched to collect poor volume from the floor.  
“An hou thay usually react?” One-eyed soldier of fortune tried to regain at last a little bit of his dignity and cleared his throat.  
“Well.. For most of times it's ' _Bloody Spy_!' or far less eloquent ' _Aaaaaaa!_ '.” Intelligencer stood up and took a moment to study plain cover. “Chemistry textbook?”  
“Nae aw of me knawledge is purely empiric, ye knaw?”  
“... In German?”  
“A can speak more than juist ane langage. Sae whit?” Demoman had no idea if it was masked mercenary's genuine curiosity or very well camouflaged interrogation. Scot always was a bit alarmed when _anyone_ seemed to be interested in his personal life, but Frenchman's polite but somehow unmoved tone made him remember those horrible times when he was cross-questioned and roughly reprimanded for his thoughtless antics in the orphanage. Oh, those were really bad times.  
“Nothing. I'm impressed.” Master of disguise approached him nonchalantly and placed the book on Scot's lap with a bit vicious smile. “It seems that you're something more than meets the eye.”  
“... Thank ye?” Cyclops tilted his head, trying to figure out if it was a compliment or not. And if it was only a figure of speech or infiltrator really was bold enough to make a joke about the number of his eyeballs.  
The next few seconds were the best example of awkward silence grenadier could ever imagine and, to be honest, he wasn't thrilled by the sensation. Even if recently they were able to treat each other in far more civilised way than before, and he had almost solid proof that recently Spy was trying to get his attention, bombardier was also perfectly aware of the fact that agent had no intention of becoming his friend or at last acquaintance. So what the man was doing here? Demo had absolutely no idea.  
“Listen lad, A daena want tae be rude,” Highlander finally placed book on the table, trying to avoid further eye contact, “but is thare onything A can help ye with?”  
“ _Non_. Why do you ask?” Intelligencer looked suspiciously innocent.  
“'Cause it's hard for me tae believe ye'v come here withoot a reason.”  
“... You cease to amaze me, don't you?” Spy chuckled darkly and more leaned against the edge of the table than sat on it, but still he was far too close to Cyclops' liking.  
“Nae?” With every minute Highlander was more and more distressed by his team-mate's unusual behaviour. “A mean... A juist want tae unnerstaund...”  
“Well, it's simple.” Agent smiled like a spoiled cat having whole couch exclusively for himself. “I just want to spent some time with you.”  
“But why?!”  
“For the same reason why you didn't chase me away when I had scared you.”  
“Tae be honest, A still wunner why I daedna dae that.” Grenadier sighed heavily, rolling his only eye.  
“Exactly.”

  
**19\. Cranky**   
_Having a bad disposition; peevish._

  
Sonorous knocking on the door in the middle of the night wasn't intelligencer's favourite type of wake-up call (it wasn't like there was any method of waking him up he approved), so it wasn't much of a surprise that he was less than thrilled by such event. For a few minutes masked soldier of fortune tried really hard to ignore the stubborn intruder, but when not so subtle knocking turned into banging, tormented infiltrator decided, that that was the right time to put an end to this violation of quiet hours and kill whoever was trying to deprive him from his night rest.  
“What?!” With sharp, strong yank he opened the door, trying to pull on his mask with one hand.  
Well, completely dressed Demoman standing at his threshold wasn't something he expected at this hour of night, but on the other hand, the man was a famous drunkard with despicable reputation of a complete madman, so his presence here wasn't anything strange.  
“Sairy lad tae bather ye...” Scot sighed, scrapping his nape. “But A need yer help.”  
“... Do you have any idea what time is this?” Frenchman rose one eyebrow, trying not to outburst. He was known for being composed at any given moment, so it wouldn't be wise to lost his face, especially to a co-worker.  
“Hey, it's nae me faut.” Cyclops rolled his eye. “Daena shoot the messenger, A juist pickit thaim up.”  
“Who did you picked up?” Seriously, one of them had serious troubles with proper communication, and Spy was perfectly sure that it wasn't him.  
As it soon transpired at the parking lot, the answer for his question was ' _one completely hammered, undressed Soldier covered with thick layer of natural honey_ ' (the whereabouts of his uniform were unknown for the time being) and ' _one also sloshed, beaten up Scout in the French maid suit_ ' (it seemed that his clothes were somewhere inside the costume, but no one was brave enough to check that), both of them lying on the back of grenadier's Willys MB.  
“... Do I want to know?” Agent felt he was already 100% done, but current circumstances indicated that there will be more of nonsense that night.  
“Dooble blind date.” Explosion expert shook his head.  
“As I thought. I didn't want to know that.” Infiltrator tried to hide inside his dressing‑gown from the night cold, but it was futile. “But why did you woke me up? Medic is the one who should take care of those morons.”  
“Doc will kill thaim.” Demo seemed to be far more emphatic towards those imbeciles than his European colleague, what wasn't nothing unusual – they were his best buddies after all, so it was natural that he felt sorry for them, no matter what. “Asides, ye're Scout's fat...”  
“Don't you ever dare to mention _that_.” Frenchman hissed, pulling out his cigarettes, but Scot's almost hurt expression made him calm down a bit. Every one would relent, it there was a sad and upset Cyclops at their side. Damn it. He was getting soft. “All right, all right. What exactly do you want me to do?”  
“Well, takkin thaim in o seems tae be a guid start.”  
“I swear to God, that kid will regret that he was even born.” Infiltrator grabbed his son's legs and with grenadier's help he managed to pull him out of the vehicle.  
“Believe me, he will. And Solly too.” Highlander strode to the entrance door and opened it with a kick. “A hiv a really dirty caur and it winna clean itsel.”

  
**15\. Chipper**   
_In lively spirits; cheerful._

  
Spy always was a true fan of hard work – he could watch it for hours without getting even a bit bored, so Scout's efforts to remove all of honey stains from Demoman's car made him very, very pleased man. The fact, that it was more than a proper punishment for his disobedient and irresponsible child, was the icing of the cake of his grim satisfaction.  
“So, dad... ” Boy gave the rug a proper wring before getting back to work on one particularly stubborn smudge. “It looks like ya and Cyclops got friendly recently.”  
“... What's it to you?” Agent asked cautiously, hoping not to betray his true, more complicated than simply “friendly” feelings towards their demolition expert.  
“Well, I'm glad.” Runner seemed oblivious to his father's true intentions, what was real relief for the latter. “It's cool that ya like my buddies.”  
“I already tolerate the fact that you're friends with that madman in too big helmet.” Intelligencer shrugged and then pulled out his cigarette case. “One drunk Scotsman shouldn't make any difference.”  
“But ya couldn't stand him before.” Kid spat on the stain he was working on and got back to rubbing it vigorously with a rug. “Ya kno', like he was some pest or somethin'.”  
“Well, he's a good company once you get to know him.” And rather handsome one, once he was freed from his protective vest. Wait, where did that come from? “And, by the way, where are our... Friends?”  
“Um... Solly scratched the fender and run away, so Demo decided to kill him. I s'pose they're still runnin' around.”  
The loud explosion somewhere within the base was a rather clean sign, that Scot finally seized his prey and punished their self-proclaimed leader with a grenade brutally pushed down his throat. In any other circumstances that would be a true overkill, but it seemed to be fair payment for scratching Cyclops' car.  
“I'm not cleanin' that.” Scout looked in the general direction of supposed detonation. “No way!”


	4. Chapter 4

**41\. Frustrated**   
_Saddened by the failure of an expectation._

  
After the long week of bloodshed, chaos, barbarity and, what was even worse, missions, Spy was truly exhausted, and his one and only desire was to sleep all day long. But no, it would be too much to ask for a few hours of peace and quiet, wouldn't it? Of course one of his crazy team-mates had to ruin his dreams about undisturbed solitude.  
“Ve'll need some snacks for ze poker night.” Medic, as usual, didn't bother with pleasantries (or knocking, it might be added) and got straight to the point. “You'll go vith Demo to ze town.”  
“No foreplay? Rude.” Agent muttered under his breath and with a heavy sigh looked at his watch. “He's a big boy, I am perfectly sure he can go alone.”  
“Last time ve let him go for ze supplies unattended, he brought booze and strippers.” Doctor looked at him from above his a bit blood-stained glasses.  
“I fail to see a problem.” Intelligencer rose one eyebrow.  
“Maybe because it vas _before_ Scout vas stationed here.”  
Well, he had a point – it was really easy to be unmoved by such events, if it wasn't his child who could be demoralized by sudden appearance of half-naked women and the ocean of cheap alcohol. Of course his descendant was already an adult citizen, but Frenchman never stopped being a bit overprotective, especially when it came to turning his _petit_ boy into a man. But, no matter how much he hated to see his offspring delighted by sudden influx of exposed breasts, he was still determined to take at last a short nap before their traditional poker madness.  
“And why _I_ am the only one who can watch after him?” Masked mercenary sighed, making the physician smirk a little.  
“I need Heavy for moving ze tables, Soldier is as much irresponsible as Demoman himself, ze same applies to your s... Scout.” Sawbones cleared his throat. “Engineer is busy vith the generator _again_ , I von't let Pyro leave ze base vithout a reliable adult and Sniper doesn't give a damn about others' doing.”  
“... I hate you so much.” Spy sighed, feeling his resistance slowly braking down under the pressure of valid arguments.  
“Vhy is that?”  
“Because you always come up with reasons that convince me you're not completely bonkers.” Spy looked at him with disdain. “Can't you just, I don't know, burn in Hell an leave me alone?”  
“ **Nein**.” Medic smiled viciously. “Zat would be far to easy.”  
When agent finally gave up and exited the main building, Demoman was already waiting for him at the parking lot, whistling some cheerful melody, which strongly contrasted intelligencer's current mood. Well, Scot's presence was a bit soothing, what was rather surprising, but still it wasn't even nearly enough for master of disguise to calm down.  
“We're taking my car, and I don't want to hear word about it, understood?” Frenchman snarled at a bit shocked Cyclops. “And no singing or there will be Hell to pay.”

  
**16\. Cold**   
_Marked by deficient heat._

  
Grenadier shivered, seeing his own breath transforming into little cloud, which slowly dissolved in the cold air of the night in the middle of nowhere. Actually, he knew where they were (in the half-way between Double Cross and the nearest town, to be precise), but the thing was that there was absolutely no signs of civilisation, not even proper lanterns. Just rocks and trees as far as he could see. It wasn't like he was unfamiliar with such surroundings, he was a proud Highlander after all, but still he could imagine that they could be a bit better prepared for spending night in such environment. Unfortunately, the only thing they had was apparently broken car and the few enormous bags of peanuts. Splendid.  
“I have no idea what's wrong with it.” Spy sighed and closed the bonnet with an audible thud. “It looks fine to me.”  
“... But ye see that smeuk?” Demolition expert looked at him with a slight distrust, trying to decide if agent really failed to see a problem or once again he was mocking him.  
“Well, sometimes smoke comes from that pipe in the back, and sometimes from under the cowl.” Intelligencer shrugged. “One way of another, engine's the source, so I can't see any difference.”  
“... Ye're sairious.”  
“Of course I _am_ serious.” Frenchman hissed. “It's too cold for jokes.”  
Well, that was true. For the first time since his 12th birthday Cyclops almost regretted he was so stubborn about a lack of proper trousers and even his jumper wasn't helping the fact that his teeth were chattering already. The other mercenary also looked a bit pale, what wasn't much of a surprise – his suit was made to look dashing, not to save a body from the cold.  
“Awricht, let's gae back tae the caur.” Scotsman approached the poor vehicle. “Mebbe the morn we thumb up some lift.”  
“We can also find a motel or at last gas station and call the base.” Spy looked around a bit nervously, like he was expecting some wild beast coming from the woods. “We passed one not so long ago.”  
“... Soods guid tae me.” Grenadier nodded. “It's freezin baws.”  
“Well, once again we have a solid proof that wearing pants wouldn't kill you.”

  
**23\. Curious**   
_Unduly inquisitive; prying._

  
Spy was rather glad that they eventually found that motel, mostly because he had no intention to die of cold somewhere in the wilderness he disliked so much. Naturally they attempted to contact with the rest of the crew, but it was Saturday evening, so probably none of the mercenaries heard the phone ringing as they were too busy with trying to threat or kill each other, what wasn't much of a surprise to be honest. Still, they managed to find a place to stay for a night, so the final outcome wasn't as bad as it could possibly be. Nevertheless, agent was never good at sleeping well in new places; he just couldn't relax when he wasn't absolutely sure that the room he was in was secure and free from surveillance, so he didn't hope for any rest that night. Instead, he was just lying flat on the bed and counting all small spots on the ceiling, trying to occupy his hyperactive mind, what wasn't an easy task. The problem was that his thoughts left alone had irritating tendency of developing stupid and even dangerous ideas, what was probably the only thing that he and his son had in common. Of course the main difference between them was the fact that he absolutely never fulfilled any of those crazy plans, what couldn't be said about Scout – the kid was a true master of getting into troubles.  
After few hours intelligencer memorized all of imperfections of the exfoliating paint, but still it was too early to wake up his team-mate and hit the road, or at last call the base. So, instead of studying the décor, he decided to watch his companion, what was actually quite entertaining pastime. As a master of intrigues, disguises and lies he was able to sense other people's secrets and Demoman was a really bright spot on his radar. Scot talked a lot about his relatives or some people he met during his journeys and other stuff like that, but it was really hard to force him to tell a story about _himself_. The only source of knowledge infiltrator had, was that rough face, anonymous scars on hands and neck, few short glances and that damned eye-patch. Not so long ago, grenadier mentioned that some magical book took his eye, but Frenchman never believed it – first of all, there was no such thing as “magic”, so this explanation was simply ridiculous; second, Cyclops was completely hammered while telling aforementioned story, so probably it was nothing more than just crazy babbling of a drunkard. Still, the eye was missing and suddenly Spy felt intrigued by the fact. Was there any scar? How could it look? Or maybe there were just closed eyelids and nothing more?  
For a while he was considering the pros and cons of acting upon his curiosity, trying to figure out if being beaten up was worth of discovering the truth behind Highlander's eye, and finally made up his mind. With a cat-like grace he get up from the sheets and quietly approached his companion's bed, trying to breath as quiet as it was possible. Fortunately, Demo was sleeping on his back, so it was rather easy to reach his eye-patch, what agent finally did.

  
**87\. Scared**   
_Made afraid._

  
Infiltrator was rather surprised when he didn't find even a smallest scar. Honestly, he expected rather unpleasant view that really needed to be hidden from the eyes of others, but there was absolutely nothing worth his attention. Everything seemed to be perfectly fine and he was absolutely sure that there's still an eyeball under the closed lids. But when he was going to put the patch back on it's place, suddenly Scot woke up. At first, his left eye was perfectly black, like it was made of obsidian, but after a split second it glared with a green-blue light, filling the room with somewhat eerie gleam. Before Frenchman had a chance to say or do anything, two strong hands clasped tight around his throat, making him short of breath.  
“ _I see you..._ ” Grenadier hissed, but his voice was unfamiliar and scary. “ _With his eye I see you..._ ”  
“Demo, stop...” Masked mercenary tried to free himself, but it was futile, since Cyclops was much stronger than him. “I... I'm... I can't brea...”  
“ _So I can haunt him too?_ ” The smile that curved Highlander's lips was definitely vicious and terrifying. “ _Oh, that will be fun!_ ”  
“DEMO!”  
The fingers crushing his neck suddenly loosened and let him go. Spy gracelessly fell of the ground, choking and trying to regain his breath at the same time, but his eyes never left his team-mate, who was watching him with panic creeping upon his suddenly pale face.  
“Oh nae... ” Scotsman moved away from him, trying to cover his left eye with shaking hand. “Nae, nae, nae... Not this again, A'm sairy, A'm sae sairy...”  
“It's... ” Agent coughed one more time before he finally was able to get up. “It's all right now, I...”  
“A'm sairy, sae sairy...” Cyclops' mantra filled the room as the man tried to melt with a wall behind his bed. “A daedna mean tae, A'm sairy.”  
It was painful to watch him in such state, when he was hiding from his colleague's eyes like a frightened child trying to become invisible and run away from the punishment. It wasn't a conscious reaction – it was an instinct taking over. Intelligencer watched him in shock, once again realising that something really, really bad happened to Demoman and he needed to be fixed really soon.  
“Don't... You don't have to.” Frenchman tried to stay calm and sat in front of him on the mattress. “I had it coming.”  
“A coud... It coud... A...” Scot was still covering his face, but the tremble in his limbs faded eventually. “A'm sae sairy.”  
“Me too.” Masked soldier of fortune surrounded him with his arms, and sighed heavily, feeling hot tears sinking into his shirt. “I'm sorry.”

  
**89\. Sick**   
_Suffering from or affected with a physical illness._

  
Demoman has been sick only three times in his whole life, so he wasn't too much familiar with the sensation, but now he was absolutely sure that the end was near. Despite the fact he was literally buried under all of the blankets and eiderdowns he could find, he was literally freezing, but it wasn't even the worst part – he could barely speak, breathing wasn't even an option and every single muscle in his body was filled with agonizing pain.  
“And this is what you get from running in skirt after the sunset.” Spy sat at the edge of his bed and stuck the thermometer inside the mound of quilts, searching for mouths. “Why did you decided to get sick during Medic's day-off?”  
Scot appreciated the fact that agent tried to avoid the subject of what happened back in the motel and his behaviour hadn't change a bit since the accident. But, as much as grateful he was, he still couldn't stop himself of being irritated when his heritage was so badly misinterpreted.  
“It's... a kilt...” Every single action he managed to take was so exhausting that even so short sentence seemed to be an enormous achievement.  
“Yes, yes, of course.” Intelligencer set the timer and sighed. “Whatever you say. I'll bring you some water.”  
“A... canna... swallae.”  
“I'm not interested in your sexual life.” Frenchman stood up and walked towards the table to grab the bottle and plastic cup he brought earlier. “Nevertheless, I suppose that condolences are in place.”  
“A... hate ye.” Cyclops was absolutely sure that the walls of his throat were covered with nails and sandpaper. “Why... Why ye dae this?”  
“Because since you don't want to compete with me during missions, teasing you is the only pleasure I have in this base.” Infiltrator smiled mischievously and produced few pills from little jar made of dark glass.  
“... That's... nae what... A mean.” Grenadier looked at him with disgust and coughed, making himself almost cry from the pain.  
“I know.” Masked mercenary once again sat beside him and handed him the cup. “But you have three friends here, Soldier, Scout and me. And as much as I love my s... short colleague, I wouldn't let him near the broken shovel in fear that he'll find a way to damage it even more.” His voice, even if a bit vicious, was somehow soothing, and Highlander felt himself relaxing a bit. “And Soldier is known for being unable to take care of himself, not to mention a sick team-mate. So it seems I'm the only reliable person who is responsible enough to watch after you.”  
“Thanks, lad.”  
“You're welcome.”

  
**99\. Weird**   
_Of a strikingly odd or unusual character; strange._

  
Demoman knew what it means to be alone, because every child abandoned at the threshold of an orphanage was more than accustomed to the feeling of loneliness. He also knew how it was to be a part of a big family – when Scot was finally reunited with his biological parents, he quickly discovered that he had more relatives than he ever imagined. But every now and then it was hard for him to make _friends_. He was not only a troubled child, but also a really twisted adult, so it wasn't much of a surprise that not many people decided to get close to him. The first one who was brave enough to dare such thing, was Jane – the man was partially out of his mind himself, so it seemed rather natural that they become best buddies really soon. The next daredevil was young and always excited Scout with an instinct of self-preservation of a mentally challenged lemming. Runner wasn't the brightest of his generation, but his enthusiasm and genuine laughter were buying him enormous amount of points. For a longest time Cyclops couldn't believe they really wanted to be his friends, but he eventually accepted the fact that there were more loonies in the world than he could suspect.  
The Spy was something different, though. The man was mysterious and dark, with his devious smile, dangerous eyes and voice that could melt even a broken heart. But it wasn't just that. The masked mercenary had also other, more cheerful side, which seemed to be the only explanation of the fact, that such sophisticated and elegant man would lower himself to be not only grenadier's acquaintance, but also a dear friend. Of course Scotsman wanted to get close to him, maybe even too close at times (those were really lonely nights and he should be forgiven for those dreams), but still he couldn't stop himself from being a bit amazed by the fact that he accomplished that goal.  
“Demo? You're coming?” Agent patted his arm and smiled. “Maybe this time we'll get a chance to really participate.”  
“Aye.” Bombardier smiled partially to his companion, partially to himself. “Who gat snacks this time?”  
“Sniper.” Intelligencer rolled his eyes and sighed. “But there are still those peanuts we got last week, so there's a slight chance for something edible.”  
“Oh boy.”

  
**75\. Pleased**   
_Experiencing or manifesting pleasure._

  
Once Spy decided to ignore Demoman's permanent state of slight intoxication, being around the man suddenly got surprisingly easy and pleasant. Scot was nothing but a great companion with a hundreds of jokes and anecdotes about his family, astonishing poker skills and inexhaustible enthusiasm about almost everything. He was sometimes like a big child with dangerous resources of explosives, but for most of the times he was just sitting in recreation room, having perfectly good time. At the beginning, agent was rather surprised by such revelation, as he knew that deep inside Cyclops seemed to be rather seriously damaged, but on the other hand, it would be quite rude to demand him to be one-dimensional, depressive character of a poorly written novel or any other dolorous piece of literature. As the time passed, intelligencer learnt that the grenadier was far more broken than he would like others to see, but also he was able to pull himself together and be at last decent person.  
That ability was really useful during their poker nights, when beer caps were turning into chips and the whole team pretended that none of them were cheating (which was a lie of course – even Scout resigned himself to wear a jacket with long sleeves, in which he could hide one or two aces). It was rather nice to sit with all of the crew, watching their faces when they argued over the wrong number of Kings of Hearts on the table, drinking Scrumpy (even if he doubted that this suspicious liquid deserved the name) and just spend some time with another human beings. But what gave him the biggest pleasure, was Highlander's presence at his side. Watching his hands, feeling his warmth when the man shifted on the squeaking chair, listening to the deep, warm voice were things he cherished more than he would be able to admit to anyone, including himself. But no matter how much he wanted his Only Woman to be wrong, with every passing day intelligencer was more and more sure that once again She was right about everything.  
But, what was rather strange for him, this time he didn't mind.  
So what if they were two really different people? So what if they weren't perfect? He didn't care. And, what was even more, despite the fact that Demoman needed someone to take care of him, Frenchman still demanded the presence of that strange Scot's in his life, even if it meant only trouble for both of them. Maybe it was the less romantic description of an affection in the history of the human kind, but Spy found it the most accurate one. And, what was the most important part of all of this, he was rather pleased with such outcome.


	5. Chapter 5

**54\. Intimidated**   
_Made timid or fearful as by threats._

  
_I am dead and that's how Hell looks like._  
“Are ye awricht?” Scotsman tilted his head and looked at cautiously. “Ye leuk pale, lad.”  
“Do I?” Agent tried to avoid eye contact and cleared his throat, knowing that despite the mask his face was shamelessly betraying all of his fears.  
“Aye, ye dae.”  
 _This is punishment for all my sins. There's no other explanation._  
“Don't be silly.” He chuckled nervously. “C... Can you tell me one more time what do you want me to do with this... liquid?”  
“Drink it?”  
 _Oh God, I'm alive. Unfortunately._  
Infiltrator, as a true and proud son of France, was more than familiar with various alcoholic drinks, what's more, was known enthusiast of good wines and cognacs, but the substance that grenadier offered to him was rather some kind of sophisticated torture than a tipple, which any given human being would digest on their own volition. The consistency was nauseous, the colour indescribable and the odour alone could made drunk everyone within a radius of three kilometres. Just thinking about swallowing even a little sip of that poison was making intelligencer sick, not to mention the perspective of swallowing down the whole glass.  
“Ye daena hiv tae, if ye daena want tae.” Cyclops shrugged. “It's juist a bet. Ye daena hiv tae win ivery time.”  
“Are you sure it's safe?” Masked mercenary gulped audibly and loosened his tie.  
“Of course A'm arena.” Highlander laughed. “It wadna be a gamble, if A knaw whit the hell is inside that glass.”  
“I was just checking.” Master of disguise finally rose the graduated cylinder they agreed to call 'a glass' and once again took a look of the bane he was about to drink. “ _Santé._ ”

  
**74\. Playful**   
_Full of fun and high spirits; frolicsome or sportive._

  
No matter how hard Demoman was trying to deny it, it was really nice to be close (not only in psychical, but also _sensual_ way) to another human being. That exact human being. Scot wasn't a hermit or anything like that, he was really familiar with the pleasures of flesh, but his so called 'love life' was more of crazy ride on the roller coaster than anything what could count as a model of healthy relationship. To be precise, he constantly oscillated between two completely opposite states: first was absolutely, guilty-filled and generously fuelled by self-tormenting over his sins and crimes isolation, and the second one, were rather hectic, but also passionate and pleasurable love affairs. And now, when bibulous and extremely friendly Spy was leaning against him, Cyclops was almost terrified by the sensations he was experiencing. He shouldn't feel that way, not towards his friend... Because they were friends? Well, maybe that wasn't the best word to describe their unique bond, but it was the only one he could come up with at the moment, so that should be sufficient for the time being. Besides, calling them names wasn't his biggest problem – the _real_ problem here was agent's too curious hand placed on his tight.  
“Lad, ye hiv eneuch.” Grenadier tried to shrug intelligencer's fingers off and get up from the floor, but his masked companion was far too persistent to let him go so easily.  
“I hate being drunk.” Frenchman clutched to his collar, pulling him closer. “I just can't stand it!”  
“Aye? And why is that?.” Highlander grabbed his wrists trying to stop other mercenary from leaning over him in so intimate way. Of course he could just smack his face anytime, but for now he still tried to be at last a bit delicate.  
“Because when I'm drunk, I know She's right. She's always right and it's so irritating!”  
“Let me go, ye daft!” Bombardier's patience was growing rather thin, just like his self‑control, and he couldn't decide which option was worse at the moment.  
“ _Non_.” Infiltrator crawled atop of him, smiling dangerously. “You have no idea how long I waited to do that.”  
Before Cyclops had any chance to ask what Spy meant, his mouth were covered with rather eager and soft lips, slowly moving against his own. At first, Scotsman was genuinely shocked, not only because he never expected his team-mate to do this, but also by the fact that he was surprisingly OK with kissing another male, but after few seconds he growled deep in his throat and returned the favour, grabbing agent's shoulders. It was so miraculously good to feel the man's warmth, his movements and hot, moist breath, but as much as grenadier wanted to continue this, he also felt a guilt creeping into his mind. Agent wasn't fully conscious due to his state of intoxication, therefore it just wasn't _right_ to do what they were doing.  
“A'm sairy, lad, we...” Demolition expert broke the kiss, trying to pull up short Frenchman's more and more vigorous advances. “Juist stop it!”  
Unsurprisingly, voice command wasn't enough to put an end to this pleasurable madness and it was obvious that another one wouldn't do much more. With a heavy sight Scot curled his hand into fist, hoping that a punch in the nose will be the right choice.  
“Ye askit for this.”

  
**79\. Rejected**   
_Rebuffed (by a lover) without warning._

  
Spy regretted waking up the very minute he regained his consciousness. One of the well known facts about the hangover was the legendary headache, so agent wasn't really surprised that he felt like something exploded inside his scull and turned his brain into dying pulp of screaming nerves, but why in the world his nose was sore and the eye swollen? That was rather unusual side effect of drinking and for a second he had no idea what to do with that revelation. But when his clouded by the agony mind finally started to work almost properly, suddenly he remembered the events of the last night.  
 _I did what?!_  
Oh no, that was bad. That was really, _really_ bad. Of course he wanted to kiss that damned idiot (well, what he wanted was something fare more intimate than just kissing, what that was story for some other time), but the fact that it was alcohol what finally made him do it was somehow humiliating. Infiltrator always thought he was far more immune to the effects of any kind of beverages and supposed that even under the influence of _spécialité de_ Demoman he would control himself perfectly, but, as it transpired, he wasn't even able to stop himself from a sexual assault. That was... Disgusting. And, to be honest, he wasn't surprised by Scotsman's reaction – no one would be happy about being molested.  
Intelligencer sighed heavily, squirming from another surge of pain splitting his head in half. He really screwed up this time. All he wanted to do was to court Cyclops, not to scare him away like that. But now he was forced to face the fact that probably he lost not only his chance to confess his feelings, but also a really good friend, what was far more devastating. As much as he desired grenadier in very, very physical way, he also really liked almost everything about the man – his smile, sense of humour, crazy ideas, devotion to work, taste in books and even strange choice of attire. And with one stupid mistake he lost all of it.  
 _Merde!_  
“A see ye're awauk.” Highlander's voice was the last thing the master of disguise expected, and he sat up to see if it was just a hallucination.  
“I... Augh! Yes, hello.” Moving from the bed was bad idea at the moment, so Frenchman fell back on the sheets. “What... What are you doing he... Wait, where am I?”  
“In yer room, daena wirry.” Mattress bent under the weight of another body. “Hou dae ye feel?”  
“... I think that's rather stupid question.” Spy frowned, trying not to show his feelings. “But I can manage.”  
“Dae you... Dae ye remember onything?” Demo looked strangely worried and almost helpless, like he was trying to speak without saying anything, what somehow rose agent's hopes.  
“... I remember that you punched me. No hard feelings, by the way.” Intelligencer smirked, despite how much it hurt his still pulsating with pain lower lid. “I had it coming.”  
“Sae... Ye remember... The ather thing ye daed?”  
It was almost cute how hard Scot tried not to smile. When it came to interpersonal matters, he often was like a defenceless child and that was one of these times. Frenchman couldn't help himself and for a moment remained silent, watching that filled with hope and fear eye, memorizing every subtle change in Cyclops' features when infiltrator placed his hand on unshaved cheek. This time Spy was going to do this right and make sure that what happened last night was his one and only mistake.

  
**66\. Naughty**   
_Behaving disobediently or mischievously._

  
Spy would feel deeply offended if anyone tried to call him a deviant or a beast, but still he had to admit that few kisses were not enough to satisfy his hunger. Of course the circumstances weren't even a bit favourable back then (broken nose, black eye and mighty hangover never were even a bit romantic), but to be honest, now they weren't any better – RED Engineers once again decided to make the other team's job unnecessarily difficult and turned every single piece of scrap-metal into powerful turrets guarded by energy shields.  
“It leuks bad.” Demoman shook his head and checked his ammunition, revealing that he was almost out of it. “Really bad.”  
“You don't say.” Even before that demonstration agent knew that they had already empty barrels and the spawn of supplies wasn't enough to give them the fire-power sufficient to get rid of those nasty sentries. “We need a back-up.”  
“Scout and Solly are on the way.” Scot looked around as to see if they were already coming.  
“Let's hide there.” Intelligencer gestured towards the little shed where was additional way into the severs under the base. “Maybe no one will spot us.”  
Well, it wasn't the best hideaway in the world, that was for sure, but still it was far better than standing in the open space in front of the Intel room – here they could remain unseen for a longer while, what was rather happy coincidence, not only because of objectives of their mission. For a first time since since morning they were truly alone and masked mercenary was already tired of waiting for something they both wanted.  
“Lad, really?” Grenadier chuckled when gloved fingers grabbed the front of his protective vest and pushed him against the thin wall. “Nou?”  
“We have nothing better to do anyway.” Infiltrator smiled deviously. “But you're free to say no. This time I'll obey, I promise.”  
Demo did absolutely nothing to stop him and Spy was really grateful for that.

  
**32\. Embarrassed**   
_Feeling or caused to feel uneasy and self-conscious._

  
“Hey guys, cavalry's comin'... WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOIN' FOR FUCK'S SAKE?!”  
From his long and painful relationship with the the nitroglycerine Demoman should learn that impetuous movements were the worst possible reaction to sudden appearances of his relatives and/or team-mates, but he was unable to remain still when someone startled him. Thankfully, agent's self-control was far better than his and masked mercenary just sighed theatrically, rolling his eyes.  
“Scout, we already had the discussion about bees and birds, you shouldn't be shocked.” Frenchman looked at his child with disdain in his cold blue eyes, but his hands remained at Scot's chest like it was something completely normal.  
“Yeah, but... Ya... And him... And ya... And... Really?!” Runner looked at them with eyes wide open, his fingers pointing them with accusation.  
“Yes, really.” Intelligencer hissed and finally let go of Cyclops' vest, turning towards his offspring.  
Grenadier managed to stop his face from squirming, but still he felt heat creeping up his neck, cheeks and ears. It wasn't like he was never caught in the middle of the act, but usually it were _his_ relatives storming into the rooms they shouldn't be in. That alone was a really good reason to feel ashamed, but no, there were more of awkwardness – maybe Highlander was a bit old-fashioned, but in his humble opinion that was the worst way of telling his friend that he become somewhat intimate with his father. Now his only desire was to crawl under some rock and die there, or at last wait until Spy will stop arguing with his one and only son.  
“And why Demo?!” Kid pointed at the Scot. “Why him?! He's such a good guy, why d'ya hafta debauch _him_?”  
“My choice of lovers in none of your business.” Agent looked 100% done, like usual when he had to calm down the brat. “And let's keep it that way.”  
“It is my business when ya demoralize my friends!” Runner whined and turned towards one-eyed mercenary. “He didn't do anythin' to ya yet? Don't worry, ya can tell me, we can still get ya outta this, man.”  
And then Cyclops really, really wanted to die.

  
**67\. Nervous**   
_Marked by or having a feeling of unease or apprehension._

  
The shiver run down his spine when their lips finally met in the darkness of Spy's room, while night hours slowly turned into anxious dusk. The mission, blood, pain and all of the fuss about their new relationship still echoed deep in his veins, making Demo a bit uneasy and dexterous as slender, cold fingers found their way under his clothes, exposing his already overheated body. Of course he knew that was just sex, that the intimacy between them wasn't much different that one he shared with women before, but still Scot was almost overwhelmed whit strangeness of the act. The hands sliding up his chest were demanding and possessive, the wet trace of pecks on his neck was more like a collar than a simple sign of endearment, and finally, the hunger he saw in every quick glance he managed to catch with his half-closed eye was something he's never experienced before, making him melt into the arms that were holding him. For the first time in many, many years anyone watched him with so intense lust written all over their face and he was more than flattered. And not only because someone wanted him – this particular person was so amazed and grateful for his presence here, like he was an embodiment of perfection and beauty. But, despite how intense was every touch falling upon his skin, he somehow knew that just one word was more than enough to stop this, if he only felt like it.  
But he didn't.  
Cyclops desired more and more; he itched to sink in every predatory kiss, to fall apart under every rough nib at his throat, to scream and moan. But, as much as he desired to finally let go and enjoy every single pleasure he was offered with, there was still that unwanted, stinging voice of reason, forcing him to think about what happened and what could happen, making him too aware of his current situation to relax. Because, was it really right of them to do this? Maybe it was too fast? Maybe they should wait a bit? Maybe it would be better to stop all of this and be just friends like they were before? Maybe...  
“A'm sairy.” Grenadier sighed, trying once again to shut his brain down, but without any success. He really, _really_ wanted to make this good for both of them, but it seemed that he was unable to unwind after all, what made him even more anxious than he was few seconds ago.  
“Shhh.” Agent smiled, kissing his collarbone. “Don't worry, everything will be fine.”  
“A'm arena worried, A'm juist...” Highlander whimpered, when finally warm palms slid upwards his tight and under the kilt. “...Nervous.”  
“I know.” Soft whisper filled Demoman's ear, making his head spin a bit. “I'll take care of you.”  
“Aye.” Scot gasped when soft touch ran over his groin and between his legs, searching for a heat confined there.  
And then his troubled mind finally got blank.


	6. Chapter 6

**13\. Calm**   
_Tranquil; serene._

  
Intelligencer sighed quietly, watching his still sleeping companion. It was nice to wake up next to other warm body, but this time the pleasure was even greater, since the man who slept by his side, was someone really special to him. For the first time since agent me Her, he found someone he really, deeply needed in every second of his life. Every breath of that strange, crazy, but also wonderful creature seemed like a miracle, making his usual smirk fade into genuine smile. To be honest, Frenchman still wondered, how could it happen that two so different people become not only friends, but also lovers, but even without an answer for this question he felt completely satisfied.  
After some time Highlander opened his only eye and looked at him, slowly realizing where and with who he was. His dark face at first was a bit surprised, like he couldn't believe that what happened few hours ago was true, but then gentle sigh escaped his soft lips. Happiness that filled his usually troubled and dark iris made Spy's breath stop for a moment, like he was afraid of scaring him away. It was the first time he saw Scot so calm and he wanted it last to forever.  
“Good morning.” Cyclops scooped agent closer, nuzzling lazily his scarred shoulder.  
“ _Bonjour_.” He answered, inhaling the luxurious scent of sleep, bedsheets and the night they spent together.  
Grenadier chuckled as the warm breath tickled his skin and sighed with content, his warms wrapped around infiltrator's waist. Silence covered them like a blanked, giving them some more time to lay together, gazing in each other's eyes with similar easiness painted gently over their so different faces. Maybe it wasn't the most sophisticated pleasure agent could imagine, but still it was the one which reached the deepest into his heart and mind, making him wonder why he even hated the man. Now it seemed almost impossible that there could be anything but that tranquillity between the two of them, and agent smiled to himself at the thought.  
“Hm?” Highlander murmured, pressing their foreheads together.  
“Nothing.” Masked mercenary moved closer and kissed the top of his massive nose. “I'm just... Glad.”  
It was Demo's turn to smile, but somehow master of disguise had no need of asking why he did that. He knew. He knew everything, what he needed to know right now and there was no reason to ask for more. There will be the time for other conversations and confessions, for plans and actions, there will be time for everything. Now it was the right moment for something else, and he was more than happy to have just that – the silent morning filled with the warm satisfaction coming from the fact that it's just the beginning of beautiful days they are going to share.

  
**78\. Refreshed**   
_With restored energy._

  
Demomen were one of the most elastic and multifunctional classes – thanks to their sticky bombs they were really good at defence, and the grenade launcher was more than enough to infuriate enemy crew, when one-eyed mercenaries decided to take a part in direct attack, and all of them were exceptional swordsmen, what made them not only efficient but also deadly dangerous. But even if Spy was perfectly aware of those facts, he was still genuinely astonished watching his lover at work. Every now and then Scot was true killing machine, but what he was doing this time, was truly beyond everything both teams could expect and imagine.  
“Bunch of fearties, A tell ye.” Cyclops halted in his killing spree and grabbed some spare ammunition. “Thay haedna sleepit last nicht or whit?”  
“... That could be an explanation, yes.” Agent had no idea, how to tell him that it was grenadier, who made every one else look bad during this battle, but on the other hand, was that really necessary? “I see you're doing well.”  
“A think sae.” Highlander shrugged.  
For a moment armoured mercenary just stood there, watching the field, and then he turned towards his companion, smiling widely. There was happiness glowing from every one of those few wrinkles around his only eye and corners of mouth hidden under moustache, making his face almost gently. The warmth coming from his clouded gaze was truly endearing and made intelligencer's heart melt a bit. It was strange, how natural it was for them too look like that at each other, how right it was for them to stand with hands so close that their fingers were almost touching. With a light chuckle Frenchman leaned closer and kissed his brave demolition expert, hoping that the rest of the team will spare them unnecessary comments.  
“Good luck.” He patted covered with heavy vest shoulder. “Give them Hell!”  
And Scotsman did, running into the enemy base with his famous battle-cry and sword ready to chop off some heads of their sworn enemies. Maybe every other man would find such view disturbing, but for infiltrator it was rather cute and really lovely.  
“If Oi knew that proper shag is everything he needs to foight like that, Oi would take care of this months ago.” Sniper whistled, watching beheaded RED Scout, who even without the scull still run for a few meters before his body finally realized what happened and collapsed onto the railway.  
“Finders, keepers.” Agent snarled, baring his chirped tooth. “Stay away from him if you know what's good for you, you filthy bushman.”  
“That was just a _joke_ , mate.” Assassin rolled his eyes. “One Spy behind my back is more than Oi need. Don't worry, Oi won't touch him.”  
“You better.”

**55\. Jealous**   
_Fearful or wary of being supplanted; apprehensive of losing affection or position._

  
Spy always thought that jealousy was a flaw of petty and insecure people, and any of those characteristics couldn't apply to him – _he_ was far better than that. Besides, why should he be afraid of losing his position? He was one of the kind and no one would be stupid enough to exchange him for anyone else in the world, and agent believed that Demoman deep inside was a reasonable man. Of course it didn't change the fact the one-eyed mercenary was complete lunatic with a strange tendency towards really bad life choices, but still intelligencer had some faith in him. That's why master of disguises did absolutely nothing, when all of his team-mates decided to appreciate his partner in more or less physical way. There was nothing wrong in few friendly hugs or hands clasped on shoulders, right? He had absolutely no reason to be even a bit worried about his status as Scot's lover.  
“YOU OLD DOG!” Soldier once again failed at expressing his feelings in moderate or at last quiet way, what was to be expected, to be honest. “COME HERE!”  
Frenchman nearly growled deep in his throat when combatant not only embraced _his_ Cyclops but also swung him around like some clumsy and overgrown ballerina. But, no matter how inappropriate Solly's action was, infiltrator was really determined to stay calm. They were just a pair of really good friends, who had their own way of communicating with each other. Who was he to come between them?  
But even if he was mature enough to stop himself from doing anything as stupid as killing any potential contestants, he was still angry deep in his bones. He wanted grenadier only for himself and, even if Spy would never admit that, he needed every one in the world to respect his ownership. Perhaps he was a bit too possessive and over-attached, but he simply couldn't help it. Of course intelligencer did his best to control his actions, but his heart was still a wild thing that couldn't be tamed. And it screamed for blood he couldn't shed. It wanted to tear apart every one who was too close to the only person it loved. And, what was the worst part of all of that situation, it was afraid of being broken once again.  
But still, agent did nothing.

  
**33\. Enamoured**   
_In love; captivated; charmed._

  
Demoman almost chuckled at Spy's grumpy face when all the team gathered in supply room to celebrate another victory. Everyone was congratulating him the best score in his history of service, even Sniper forced himself to use more than four words in one sentence, but agent kept the distance and just stood in the corner of the room, watching his crew with amusing mixture of hate and forced neutrality. After few minutes of this almost cute show Scot began to wonder what was going on – intelligencer was the most composed and nonchalant person Cyclops has ever known and it was hard for him to imagine anything what could affect his lover (what a wonderful word) this much. It wasn't about the points, because grenadier knew that Frenchman got few really impressive kills today, and for sure it wasn't any kind of personal vendetta against any of RED mercenaries (that jack-a-dandy was simply above such trivialities). So what could it be?  
The realisation struck him like a thunder when Solly lifted him from the ground and brutally squeezed air out if his lungs. If looks could kill, their leader would be a melted pulp percolating through the floor thanks to infiltrator's gaze filled with pure hate. Grenadier hold his breath and the deadlock on his ribs wasn't the only reason – for the first time in his life someone was jealous of him! Maybe it was really egoistic to derive pleasure from such thing, but to be honest, no one ever cared about him enough to develop such intense emotions. Of course he should be ashamed of himself, but he couldn't be helped. He was just too happy to think about such things as decency and other moral stuff like that.  
When Jane finally let go of him, Highlander approached still glooming Frenchman, who was pretending that nothing really happened. Maybe his face once again was nothing more than nonchalant and almost bored mask, but cold eyes were betraying his true feelings, making Demo smile a little. Of course he didn't want to make his lover feel like that, but he also couldn't stop himself from being at last a bit glad.  
“What's so funny?” Spy rose one eyebrow, like being interested in Scotsman's motives was exhausting.  
“Naething.” Cyclops smiled one more time and leaned closer, tilting his head to avoid their noses from crashing.  
And then, for the first time since he was moved into Double Cross, bombardier finally managed to take aback the master of surprises. At first, poor infiltrator just stood there completely frozen, but after few seconds of really awkward kiss he finally regained his composure and threw his arms around grenadier's neck, frantically pulling him closer. One-eyed mercenary gasped silently when sudden change of position put him off balance and he needed to brace himself with one hand on the wall beside agent's head. Maybe it wasn't the best time and place for so intimate endearments, but he needed to show his poor Frenchman that there was no need for such jealousy.  
“A'm yers, daena wirry.” He murmured, when they both finally needed some air. “A'm yers.”  
Spy looked at him, his face suddenly perplexed and a bit shocked, like he wasn't aware of how visible his previous dreadful glares were. But after initial shock, he was smiling again, his blue irises filled with warm gleam of something, what Demoman dared to call adoration. Maybe it was too bold assumption, but still that look melted grenadier's heart a bit, making few old crackles finally disappear.


	7. Chapter 7

**11\. Bouncy**   
_Lively, exuberant, or self-confident._

  
For a short period of time Scotsman was afraid, that Scout would hate him for dating his father, but thankfully the kid never did or said anything what would indicate the change in his feelings towards his constantly tipsy friend. Highlander was a bit surprised, to be honest, and even asked him why he was so OK with this situation. The runner just burst out laughing and looked him in the eye, trying not to suffocate.  
“We were friends when he hated ya!” Kid smirked. “So we can be still friends when he screw ya. Right?”  
Well, Cyclops had it coming. He should expect answer like that – the brat was as honest as tactless, so saying such things was definitely his style. Nevertheless, grenadier was satisfied with the results and he promised to himself not to approach the subject in future, fearing another confession like that. Agent on the other hand seemed to be completely indifferent to the relationship between his son and lover, but sometimes bombardier could swear the man was genuinely pleased when he saw him spending some quality time with Scout. Maybe that was the main reason why he asked Demo to join their little family trip to the nearest city one day.  
“Don't worry, that little gremlin will be delighted.” Intelligencer rolled his eyes, when they finally got to the parking lot. “Now there will be two of you to get on my nerves.”  
“A'm really guid passenger.” Scotsman huffed with exaggerated dignity. “A even daena remind ye tae drive on the left side o the road.”  
“Maybe because we have right-hand traffic here?” Frenchman rose one eyebrow.  
“Nice try, but nae guid eneuch.” Cyclops laughed and friendly patted his shoulder. “The're nae countries with richt-hand traffic.”  
“Guys, come on, ya old fags!” Batter was practically jumping on the rear seat of his father's newly repaired car. “Why d'ya haffta be so _slow_?!”  
“Because we are old?” Frenchman smirked and ruffled kid's hair. “And, by the way, tell me, _sweet child of mine_ , what did I tell you about the f-word?”  
“Erm... Not to use it?” Runner looked at his dad with somewhat alarmed expression, like he was knowing what was about to come.  
“Exactly.” Masked mercenary smiled deviously and pinched boy's cheek like some kind of devilish aunt, his voice high-pitched. “Good boy.”  
“You're a sick fuck” rascal muttered quietly and rubbed his red face, while his parent finally sat behind the wheel.  
“I heard that, young man. Another f-word we've talked about.”  
“This is gaein tae be a wunnerfu day.” Demo laughed, looking and them with delight. “It's juist a trip, or are we supposed tae dae something productive there?”  
“We need to buy birthday's gifts for his mother.” Spy explained, starting the engine. “Fasten your seat belts, _mon canard_.”  
“Let's go, let's go, let's go!” Scout chirped cheerfully, making his companions smile a bit at his enthusiasm.  
Oh yes. This _will_ be a truly wonderful day.

  
**62\. Melancholy**   
_Affected with or marked by depression of the spirits; sad._

  
Spy looked completely out of place in small, not particularly clean and smelling with cheap substitute of coffee bistro, but at the same time he seemed to be perfectly comfortable, sitting at their little, stained table. That strange ability was one of many things he had in common with cats – wherever he appeared, he looked like he was there since forever, practically owning the place. And yet, Demoman couldn't not to notice, that agent was somehow sad, his blue eyes fixed on the large window, already forgotten cigarette almost falling from between almost limp fingers.  
Scotsman also looked outside, trying to guess what his masked companion was watching, and wasn't much surprised when he saw Scout chatting casually with group of local girls. Maybe he wasn't the most handsome young man in history of time, but he was also absolutely charming lad with his genuine smile, large eyes full of emotions and that little dimple that sometimes appeared on his still child-like, smooth cheek.  
“Penny for yer thoughts?” Cyclops asked gently, sitting down on his chair.  
“Hm?” Intelligencer averted his eyes from stained glass and looked at him inattentively.  
“Ye seem a bit woebegone.”  
“I'm not...” Frenchman made an attempt a smile, but failed terribly. “I just remembered old times when I met his mother.”  
“A suppose it isn't far too lang story fillt with anecdotes aboot sittin in a pub.” Grenadier sighed heavily, reaching for his tea. “But if ye feel like sharing, A'm willint tae listen. Only if ye want.”  
“Well... Meeting her was one of the best things that ever happened to me.” Spy confessed, and throw his cigarette into a brimful ashtray. “Mostly because I travelled to America after the worst thing in my life happened.”  
“... A'm sairy.” Demo covered his hand with his own, trying to comfort him somehow.  
“You don't have to. It wasn't you fault after all.” Infiltrator smiled mirthlessly. “That was nothing more than just a sad consequence of my profession. Every secret agent knows that it is for the best not to fall in love with co-workers. Especially other spies.”  
“... What happent? A mean, you daena hiv tae tell me...” Scotsman bit his lower lip as his fingers almost desperately clutched at the glove. “Sairy, forget it, it was rude tae ask.”  
“No, no, it's all right... Just...” Masked mercenary sighed. “Most of those events are still confident. You see... My partner died because of fatal mistake and betrayal inside my own department. One of our superiors was in fact a double agent and my lover tried to expose him. He tried his best to acquire some microfilm, which was supposed to be a solid proof of our supervisor's fraud. Unfortunately, he was killed before he managed to achieve his goal, and everyone though that he was the traitor. I just... I just couldn't stand that and submitted my resignation. Boston was supposed to be the first stop on my journey to Brazil, but...”  
“Ye met his mother.” Cyclops once again looked at a runner, who was still trying to turn himself into a chatterbox.  
“Yes. I's rather a trivial story, to be honest.” Frenchman chuckled silently. “I just couldn't let a woman carry so many bags on her own, so I helped Her. In return, She asked me to stay for coffee. Then, She asked me to stay for dinner... And to stay for the night. And day after day She asked me to stay a bit longer, and I had no real reason to refuse. After some time that little creature was born and... For the first time since my partner's death I felt complete, you know? It was... Touching... How small and fragile he was. He needed me and I needed to take care of him. And She let me.”  
“Why arena ye two tegither?” Grenadier tilted his head. “Because ye arena. Richt? A mean, A'v niver askit, but...”  
“No, we're _not_.” Spy rolled his eyes, but he seemed to be a bit amused. “You see... She's a free spirit. No one can't stop Her, tame Her and make Her change. And unfortunately, I am not able to share. When I am with someone, there is only one thing I require, and that's absolute fidelity. I don't hold it against Her of course, She's a truly wonderful person, we're just... Emotionally incompatible. She's like a wild wind which needs to wander and what I need is an anchor She simple can't become.”  
For a few minutes they sat in silence, watching Scout, who was about to be painfully turned down by really dreamlike blonde with heavy eyelashes. Maybe it was cruel to just sit there like two worst wingmen in history, but they couldn't care less. It was fascinating to watch youth in it's full glory – for them both it was something what they experienced once, a long of time ago, and already missed.  
“Dae ye regret onything?” Demoman almost whispered, like his voice could startle people outside the bistro.  
“No. I have everything I need. Family. Child.” Agent smiled and turned towards his companion. “And you.”

  
**82\. Romantic**   
_Of, relating to, or characteristic of romance._

  
For intelligencer, the very essence of romance were roses, candlelights, wine, poetry and other things like that. Of course he could find hints of amorous atmosphere in far less sophisticated activities than long dinners or walks, but despite that he had some quite refined standards. That was probably the main reason why he had no clue why that mad Scotsman decided to take him for a ride after a sunset. Agent was born, raised and educated in big city, and he never was a big fan of wildlife – of course he knew it's general purposes like trees, oxygen and so on, but still he treated nature rather as a great thing to watch on postcards or paintings, not an environment he'd like to be in. But since Cyclops seemed to be really enthusiastic about spending some time outdoors, Frenchman decided that he can bear such sacrifice in the name of love.  
To be honest, the perspective of close encounter of the third kind with wolves and bears wasn't his perfect plan for the evening, but wild children of mother nature weren't the only reason why he was a bit afraid of the trip – infiltrator still had no idea about quality of grenadier's driving skills, and somehow he expected to be dead before they'll manage to leave the parking lot. Thankfully, it transpired that Demolition expert was not only excellent driver (even if he still believed that such thing as right-handed traffic didn't exist), but also his old military car was surprisingly comfortable. It wasn't limousine of course, but still it counted as rather... bearable. At last until they left the main road – when wheels hit the first bumps and roots, Spy was forced to hold on anything he could grab.  
"I hope there's a reason for all of that madness." He hissed when one particularly big rock hit the Jeep's body.  
"Juist wait for it." Highlander smiled like a child who wanted to show his newest picture to his parent.  
It were moments like that when Frenchman was truly speechless, watching yet another part of the man's complicated soul. With every new kind of smile, gaze and laughter he was falling deeper and deeper for this mad, unpredictable Scot, and now he finally reached the point in which he truly loved him. Maybe it was too early for them for such things, maybe using _that_ word now was some kind of profanity, but all those reasons couldn't change agent's feelings towards the strangest person he's ever met.  
Finally they reached the top of the hill and that put an end to their really interesting but also rather bumpy ride. Masked mercenary tried to get out of the car, but suddenly he discovered that somewhere along the way his legs got really wobbly and there was a great risk of falling right into wet grass, which he'd like to avoid at any cost. Thankfully, it seemed like Cyclops had no intention of leaving the vehicle and instead he worked on removing the roof.  
“Look.” Grenadier smiled to his companion and turned his face towards the night sky.  
Here, far away from the industrial lights and any other signs of civilisation, everything looked more intense, like the deep darkness from the space was almost pouring onto them, filling the air with cold chill of it's might. Stars, which in cities usually seemed to be outnumbered by lampposts and neons, here were truly countless embers of the Universe, shining orphically. There were no right words to describe the beauty of the most powerful and beautiful thing in the world, which in fact was the world itself. Usually Spy was far from thinking about all of those fundamental questions about origins of matter, life and every single object he could see or touch, but here, where everything was completely still and quiet, he was almost hearing the echoes of the unspoken answers.  
It was then, when he finally realised, that it's Highlander's way of being romantic. Just the two of them, facing the greatest existing mystery of the entire timeline. For a few moments intelligencer was just sitting there, completely aghast, but then he finally regained his composure and leaned for the kiss, pressing soft “thank you” against those beloved lips. For longest time he saw in his Scotsman someone who desperately needed help, some attention and maybe an intimacy, but now he knew how wrong he was. It wasn't his job to fix another human being – mostly because Cyclops wasn't that broken. Of course there were deep cracks in his soul that should be filled with something more acceptable than loneliness, but it wasn't the point. Grenadier didn't need to be repaired. He needed to be discovered.

  
**61\. Loved**   
_Held in deep affection; cherished._

  
Deep, narrow valleys of white cloth ran across the bed and concentrated at two almost symmetrical points where Demoman's hands were clasped on the sheets. With every breath his fingers delved deeper and deeper, imprinting wrinkles on the almost moist surface of the white fabric below them. It wasn't the pain or even the effort what was pinning him face down to the mattress – for some reason he felt completely overwhelmed with every single touch caressing his glistening with perspiration skin. He didn't know why, but this time everything was different, far more intense and yet slower and more intent. Scot had no idea how Spy managed to stay so calm and focused while he was barely able of speaking, but maybe it had something to do with that strange gaze agent shot him during their trip to the woods earlier that evening. Maybe. Cyclops couldn't tell for sure. Intelligencer was an embodiment of mystery after all, so it was hard to guess what was going on in his mind.  
Deep groan escaped grenadier's throat when two slick digits brushed against his insides, making him almost paralysed with pleasure and uncomfortable heat at the same time. To be honest, he had no idea why he agreed to do that, but there was something in Frenchman's voice what made him feel like trying. Until now they managed to satisfy their lust just with touches, but this night they both craved something even more intimate. That was the reason why he was laying flat on bed with his face pressed against creased pillow, trying to accommodate to almost shy invasion into this body.  
At some point, Demo stopped counting how long those preparations were lasting, how many fingers found their way inside him and how many times he asked for more, even if he wasn't sure what he was asking for. He hoped that Spy knew, like usual when they were together like this. Scot was moaning silently, while very single touch was burning his muscles and nerves, and countless whispers got mixed with ragged breath above his arched back and turned into a poison, which was slowly flowing into his veins. Every slow, almost calculated motion within him was like a promise sealed with a kiss on his lower back and signed with the droplets of sweat on his shoulders. But still, all of it wasn't even nearly enough. He craved more contact, more skin touching his own, more _him_. And yet, Cyclops patiently waited for what was coming, trying to calm down his painfully beating heart.  
But, his lust aside, grenadier was genuinely moved by the delicacy of agent's actions. It was truly touching, how hard intelligencer tried not to hurt him – his soft caresses were reaching deep within bombardier's soul, gradually calming him down; every single hint of pain was followed by soft, apologetic kiss between his shoulder blades. Scot felt exposed and safe, uneasy and relaxed, crushed and nestled.  
He felt loved.  
He cried quietly both at the realisation and the sudden loss, when his lover retreated his fingers. Strong arms helped him to turn on his back, and that was already too much. Until now Cyclops was able to pull himself together, but the view of Spy's flushed, sweated face and ruffled hair was the most intense thing he's ever saw in his life. With his shaky hand he reached for the warm cheek, dwelling in the sensation of touching bare skin. He didn't dare to ask why this time infiltrator discarded his mask along with the rest of his expensive clothes, but now he knew the reason. Or at last he hoped that he guessed right.  
With that unspoken question in mind he let intelligencer's hands to spread his legs and display what was between them. Maybe he shouldn't be so fond of this position, maybe he should do something about that, but then there was that sweet pressure against him, and Highlander couldn't bring himself to care about what was right, and what was wrong. The feeling of being stretched and filled was too intense to leave a room for any other sensations, reducing Demoman's thoughts into flashes of words he wasn't able to speak aloud.  
Once again he was pressed into the bedsheets, but this time his slow fall was mimicked by the Spy, who covered him with his own frame, chasing his lips and neck. Finally, finally he could touch, bite and lick, he could press agent against his chest and keep him there, slowly melting with him into one shapeless form of throbbing need and emotions. He was literally losing his mind, his head dizzy and light, hands rushing everywhere they could reach without asking for permission. But even if the release was their common goal, both mercenaries were more fond of the approach itself, trying to make it last as long as it was possible. They weren't just satisfying their needs – they were asking and giving, fighting and giving in, denying and offering.  
They were making love.  
Scot almost got unconscious when the climax finally burst inside him, filling his body with bone deep ecstasy; his nerves were tingling with weaves of pleasure repeating one after another until his body went completely limp and formless. It was hard to concentrate, to breathe, to exist under the pressure of such intensity and he didn't even try. He just plunged in the sweet feeling of lightness, for a moment losing not only his original shape but also mind. There was not even a single thought that could indicate he was still a person, only a soft, almost velvet delight.  
“I love you.”  
And then, Cyclops was slowly falling down until he landed on the bedsheets, exhausted and barely conscious under his sweet lover, who was whispering those three words against his neck and collarbone. Just three words, three simple words he was afraid to speak himself, but they were enough to make him finally feel complete.


	8. Chapter 8

**65\. Morose**   
_Sullenly melancholy; gloomy._

  
_You should tell him._  
Sometimes it was hard to judge if it was his reason speaking, or maybe that little voice piercing his mind in fact belonged to the Bombinomicon. Either way, Demoman didn't like what he was hearing inside his own head, as it was precisely what he didn't want to think about. Every single relationship in his life ended the same way, when his conscience was too aggressive and made him break down under the weight of his guilt. It was hard to stay with so damaged, crushed person, and he couldn't blame all of those wonderful women to left him behind; he was a dead-weight and a true threat after all, and every sensible person wouldn't like to have anything to do with him. Actually, Scot was quite used to being abandoned and he couldn't bring himself to be upset about that kind of treatment. And, what was probably the worst part of all of this, sometimes he was convinced that it was definitely fair punishment for every single sin he's ever committed.  
But this time, he felt, he even _knew_ it was different. For once that miracle called relationship could really survive. Perhaps it was nothing more than just delusional dream of naïve child, but it was also the only thing that he really owned – the dream of being truly happy. Everything else, like his skills, health and sanity could be lost so easily, but that one hope was always with him, just like his anger. Maybe he was nothing more than temporally tamed monster, maybe he didn't deserved anything good in his life, but for the first time he had enough strength to rebel against his conscience and demand something more than loneliness and guilt. He wanted to be just... loved. Like a real human being.  
 _You have to tell him._  
But then he found out that there's rather huge obstacle he had to overcome. Every single time he tried to confess his feelings to Spy, his voice failed him, dying deep in his suddenly constricted throat. Actually, until now he's never expressed his feelings verbally, it was always his actions that were true communicates, but this time he knew that those three words needed to be spoken. And yet, he was unable to do that. No matter how many times he tried to speak, the effect was always the same – silence. Day after day he tried and tried, and the only thing he really achieved were countless kisses planted on his lips and neck, warm whispers filled with tenderness and that soft gazes he was almost feeling in his soul every time agent was inside him. He wanted to return the favour, to say anything, but he also just couldn't do that.  
 _You have to..._  
 _AYE, A KNAW, JUIST SHUT UP! A knaw, whit A hiv tae dae, A juist... Canna._

  
**3\. Angry**   
_Feeling or showing anger; incensed or enraged._

  
Cyclops was more than used to being constantly pissed off. During years of his lonely childhood and tedious teenage years, anger was his only loyal companion, who was coming back to him, even when Highlander tried to get rid of it with all of his strength. Since he remember, he always had a really good reason to be depressed or miserable. As an abandoned child he had too many painful questions that remained without proper answers. When he managed to murder the only people who chose to love him, his soul was damaged with that fatal failure and indelible sin. As his demolition training proceeded, his poor, lost mind was getting more and more shattered, and in the end grenadier was so broken that it was hard to call him human being.  
And then, almost buried under the weight of all of his crimes, he snapped.  
They called him a monster, so he became one.  
They were afraid of him, so he was terrifying.  
They saw only his alone eye, so it was filled with wrath.  
Whatever others thought of him, he became even worse than just that. And he was constantly angry at everything and everyone, including himself.  
But even if it was good strategy for a lonely wolf, after some time he was forced to control his intractable temper, especially since he signed the contract with Builders League United and was forced to participate in the completely new concept in his life called 'team-work'. At first, he wasn't a fan of the idea, but as the time passed he learned to take advantages of this setting and eventually he became more than eager to take part in even the most wicked strategies of their self-proclaimed leader in a person of Soldier. Of course it was hard for him to control his behaviour at all times, but once again the alcohol was the answer he needed, and even if it never should be considered as a proper solution, he couldn't care less – it made him significantly more relaxed and easygoing, and, what was the most important, he was able to spend some time with his colourful companions without sudden outbursts of fury.  
Unfortunately, underneath his new friendships and bounds, somewhere down there he was still angry. All of his demons and memories never died, and they were just waiting for the right moment to wake up from their delirious slumber and strike back. And he couldn't do anything about that.  
“ _Mon amour_.” Spy's lips were wandering over his skin, leaving almost moist track of soft kisses. “What's the matter?”  
“Naething,” he lied as he always did when an answer for such question was required.  
And even that small, almost innocent deceit made him even more angry at himself.

  
**97\. Uncomfortable**   
_Conducive to or feeling mental discomfort._

  
It wasn't like Spy was a fan of weapons. Of course they were quite handy in his line of work, he could also see a beauty in some of designs (especially engraved revolvers made his knees wobbly a bit), but still he saw them only as tools and nothing more. But even agent was definitely impressed by Demoman's assemblage of melee weapons, not only because of the number of gathered items, but also the variety of them. There were long swords shining mendaciously in the dark of Scot's room, heavy battle axes still covered with rust (or maybe it was blood? It was hard to say without a proper amount of light) and even few intimidating clubs called 'morning stars', which made intelligencer shiver a little when he tried to imagine the wounds left by those spikes. But, no matter how horrendous were those weapons, infiltrator was getting more and more fascinated by their shapes and weight.  
“Quite a collection.” Frenchman nodded, watching slightly jagged bit of Scotsman's Scullcutter. “And this one looks rather heavy. Does it slow you down?”  
“A little.” Cyclops shrugged nonchalantly. “But it's nae like A'm fast even on normal circumstances.”  
“Right... ” Spy smiled to himself and flicked his cigarette. “But I suppose it's not you, but your protective gear to blame.”  
For a moment he studied the battery in silence, trying to guess how to use some of those tools of extermination, when suddenly one of the swords caught his eye. It looked quite old, but also it seemed to be in far better condition than the rest of exhibits. For a moment agent had a strange feeling that the sword was calling him, and without any second thoughts he reached for it.  
“NAE!” Grenadier stopped his hand. “Daena titch it.”  
“Why?” Intelligencer looked at him with interest, feeling his fingers itching for the hilt being so, so close. He could almost feel the touch of the old leather on his outstretched palm.  
“It's hauntit.”  
Those words made infiltrator suddenly realize how strange and unnatural was his previous urge to grab the weapon and hold it in his hands. He still could hear the distant echo of disturbing whispers demanding heads to fall and blood to be spilled all over the slender blade. Although he never was a person easy to scare, that experience made him almost terrified not only because of the treacherous nature of the enhanced weapon, but also by the very idea of being possessed. Frenchman could never imagine how would it be if his mind belonged not only to him but also someone else, but now he already knew the answer. And he wasn't happy about that.  
“What is this... Thing?” He asked finally, trying to regain his composure.  
“This is the reason why A betrayed my dear friend.” Demoman's gaze was indescribably sad, showing that these old wounds still weren't healed.  
“Don't blame yourself.” Agent squeezed his shoulder, trying to stop him from falling down into those lost times. “It's hard to fight with something what is corrupting your own mind.”  
“... A suppose sae.” Scot sighed, and really tried to smile. “But... It wad be sae easy tae blame anely the sword. Sae, sae easy.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well... A think A luit it possess me.” Cyclops closed his eye and sighed. “Sometimes A hiv that feeling that it wadna take control over me, if there wisna that little part of my mynd which wantit tae submit tae it. Even if A wis somehow possessed... A felt free. Free from consequences, boundaries and rules. Well, it wis a lie of course, but for the time being it felt... Richt.”  
Intelligencer didn't even bother with finding the right words – they weren't powerful enough to make his lover feel better – and simply hugged grenadier with all of his strength, trying to erase bad memories with his touch. He knew that it was impossible to change the time that already passed, but still he hoped for at last few seconds of freedom from the guilt that was still poisoning Highlander's soul.  
“Stop. Just.. Don't do that to yourself.” Frenchman cupped his beloved one's face and looked him into a weary, sad eye. “He forgave you. I think it's time for you to do the same. You don't have to live with this.”  
“A knaw. But... It's hard.” Bombardier lowered his head that their foreheads were touching. “A always tried tae deal with such things on mine ain, but it seems A'm arena guid at it.”  
“No one is. Not really” Spy sighed. “But now you're not alone. You can count on me.”  
Suddenly Demo's expression changed from depressed to genuinely surprised, like it was the first time he truly realised that they were really together. His dark iris was filled with unusual softness and something touching crept upon his whole face, making it almost calm and serene. His full lips moved, like he was about to say something, but then Cyclops once again was completely terrified, like his heart was about to break down.  
“What's wrong?” Spy tilted his had, trying to guess what was going on. “Tell me, please.”  
Grenadier shook his head, showing that he's not able to speak, and simply kissed him, clutching agent to his chest. Maybe it wasn't the best way of communicating, but intelligencer knew, what that gesture meant, so he was perfectly happy without any words. He know that one day he'll hear them and masked mercenary was patient enough to wait for it.

  
**88\. Shocked**   
_Struck with fear, dread, or consternation._

  
Silent afternoons weren't common thing in Double Cross, so the whole crew tried to enjoy the experience as much as it was possible. Scout for example was running laps around the base to warm up before the mission. Most of them gathered in the recreation room, but everyone was doing something else. Heavy and Sniper were reassembling their respective weapons, sharing their knowledge in the field of pipe cleaners, Soldier resolved to polish his helmet, Demo tried to finish another textbook, Pyro was listening to the radio and Engineer simply took a nap. The one with the most disturbing pastime was Medic, who decided to temporally give up on the cadavers and take care of his still living colleagues. Most of them couldn't care less, but one particular BLU was simply miserable because of this.  
“I simply can't understand sawbones' obsession with butter.” Spy shook his head in disbelief and looked at the mentioned mercenary. “Butter is the best thing in the cuisine. Can you imagine a meal prepared without it? Of course not!”  
“Yers blood test results are really that bad?” Scot rose one eyebrow, flipping through the pages of half-burned book about possible ways of using nitroglycerine in the modern household.  
“He said cholesterol will kill me one day!” Agent huffed, crossing his arms. Really, sometimes he was just like a spoiled child. “We have respawn here, I can't die anyway.”  
“Well, proper diet winna kill ye, that's for shuir.” Cyclops sighed and wrote down few words in his notebook.  
“It's simply unfair.” Intelligencer pouted and flopped onto the couch beside his lover. “ _Notre Docteur_ is absolutely OK with _your_ bad habits, but he's still trying to get ride of mine! Smoking, drinking coffee and eating a bit too much butter can't be that bad!”  
“It leuks like they are.” Grenadier finally gave up and put the book away. “Besides, daena wirry, doc tried tae fight with my sae called 'drinking problem', but at some point he simply surrendered.”  
“Really?” Frenchman looked at him with interest. “How did you that?”  
“A hiv nae idea,” confessed Highlander, awkwardly scratching his covered with turtleneck nape. “A wis tight like a boiled owl.”  
“Oh, that's _really_ helpful.” Masked mercenary rolled his eyes.  
Demo really wanted to make him feel better, but it was extremely hard since he wasn't any good at stuff like that. In his family the most popular way of lifting one's spirit was a kick in the ass, energetic yelling and drinking, but Scout doubted that these methods would have the same effect on his beloved Spy. Unfortunately, he had no chance to come up with something more adequate, because suddenly Scout arrived at the window sill.  
“I've seen a lady!” Boy exclaimed proudly.  
“Yes, your mother, I know.” Agent looked at his child with a lassitude. “You used to live with Her, remember?”  
“Very funny, _daddy_.” Runner huffed, just like his father did few minutes ago. “I've seen a lady _here_. She said she wants to speak with Jane.”  
“Me?” Doe seemed to be genuinely surprised, but after few seconds of consideration his face got decorated with wide, bright smile. “Oh, it must be Merry.”  
“... Merry?” Cyclops rose one eyebrow. “Ye auld bastard, why daedna ye tell me that ye finally fand a lassie fer yerself? Congratulations!”  
“Well... The time wasn't right.” Soldier looked somewhat uneasy, like talking about his female acquaintance was something he'd like to avoid. “And... You know. I better be going.”  
“How very odd.” Spy looked at his companions when their self-proclaimed leader finally leaved the recreation room. “You've seen that or it's just me?”  
“What do you mean?” Engineer finally woke up and took of his google. “Did I miss something?”  
“Solly have a girlfriend!” chirped Scout.  
Grenadier sighed heavily and reached for his notebook. Actually, he wasn't surprised that Doe found some pretty girl to keep him company – despite his few flaws, he was a man with a heart of gold – but at the same time he felt a bit hurt and excluded. He was combatant's best friend after all, he should be the first person to hear about success in Jane's love life. Of course they had their “silent days” (and Highlander felt completely responsible for them – he sold his friend for a sword, dammit!), but still it was... Painful.  
“I'll believe it vhen I see it.” Medic rolled his eyes and walked towards the window, where Scout was sitting. “Vhere... Oh, I can see. Not classical beauty, I must admit, but if they're happy together, vho am I to criticise?”  
“I wonder if she has nice legs.” runner moved aside to make some room for the physician. “I can't see shit because that dress.”  
“Scout, it's rude to stare. Get your bony ass from the windowsill this instant.” Agent finally lost his patience and leaved the couch to scold his child properly. “You're going to break your neck, you little...” His gaze wandered towards the landscape outside the window and intelligencer literally froze in place.  
“Dad?” Kid placed his both feet on the floor and looked at his parent, worry visible in his young eyes. “What's wrong? Shouldn't ya threat me or something?”  
“Son... Maybe I'm wrong, but... Do you really want to tell me this person standing over there is, in your opinion, a _female_?”  
“Uhm... Yeah?” Rascal looked once again at their unexpected guest. “Dress: checked. Fancy hat: checked. Definitely a girl. Why?”  
“It's not a dress, you moron!” intelligencer whined. “These are robes!”  
 _Robes?_  
“Demo wears a skir... skirt-y thing too.” Frenchman continued his tirade. “You thought that he was a woman?”  
“Well... Yeah, I was a bit surprised that he uses the same toilet as the rest of us, but hey, that was none of my business. And first shower left no doubts that he's a guy, so there was no reason to talk about it. Who am I to judge? He can wear whatever he wants, that's not my problem.” Scout seemed to be completely obvious to his father's agony.  
“And facial hair wasn't enough to convince you that he's a man without seeing his genitals!?” Spy sighed heavily around his cigarette, ignoring doctor's dreadful stare.  
“Ma told me that's rude to comment if girl has some hair here and there.” Boy shrugged. “Besides, that one's shaven. And has a really sophisticated hat, just like those mum wears when she's going to the church.”  
“Your mother would never wear ram's scull!”  
 _… Scull?_  
No, that could be just a coincidence. There could be dozens of adult males who decided to walk around in robes. That was perfectly normal... Right, maybe that wasn't the most popular choice of attire, but still it wasn't anything uncommon to see – he was in Las Vegas once, he saw stranger outfits. So there was nothing to worry about, right? And the scull as a hat? Please, even hyena in animated movie had one. That was no proof. But... _Merry..._  
Trying not to show his emotions, Demo finally approached to window, hoping that he was mistaken. That Soldier didn't befriended his nemesis and. Unfortunately, even if he had just one eye, he still could see well.  
 _You bastard..._

  
**35\. Enraged**   
_Marked by extreme anger._

  
“Merasmus.”  
Despite the fact Spy was rather busy with being depressed over his son's inability to tell feminine clothes from masculine ones, his instincts were still sharp enough to warn him when something bad was about to happen. Whatever it was – an instinct, sixth sense or simply experience – it always managed to alarm him just in time to prevent another catastrophe. That's why he was absolutely aware of Scotsman's rage before his lover managed to curl his rough hands into fists. Grenadier's face was twisted with pure hate and fury as all of his hidden under uniform muscles tensed, preparing themselves for the attack. His whole silhouette indicated that there will be a bloodshed really soon if there will be no one brave enough to stop bombardier, and the reason behind of all of this was Soldier's friend still waiting patiently outside.  
“Demo?” Agent placed one hand on his companion's shoulder, trying to keep him in place with this gentle yet miraculously powerful touch. “What's wrong?”  
“It's Merasmus.” Highlander hissed through gritted teeth.  
“I don't follow.” Intelligencer clutched his fingers, hoping that he won't be forced to fight with his beloved one.  
“He's the man wha stealt ma eye.”  
And that was the moment when Spy for the first time really regretted the fact, that he was subtle enough to abandon the issue of missing eyeball and wait patiently till Cyclops will be ready to tell him the story. Unfortunately, now it was too late to fix this. He had to calm Scotsman down somehow and, what was probably even more important, he should do it really soon. Thankfully the rest of the crew was too occupied with guessing how did it happen that Doe and Merasmus became acquaintances, so for now grenadier's blood lust remained unnoticed.  
“I'll kill him.” Demoman moved away from the window and strode through the room towards the door. “A'm goin tae strangle him with me bare hands!”  
“Oh no, you don't!”  
Agent instantly ran after him, trying to come up with _anything_ what could stop Scotsman from committing a murder. Thankfully, he was way faster than his one-eyed lover, so chasing him down before grenadier managed to leave the base wasn't much of a challenge. The main disadvantage of this situation was the fact, that Frenchman had not enough time to prepare any sensible strategy of taming his bewildered partner.  
“Daena try tae stop me!” Highlander's voice could shatter bones and boil blood. “Dae ye hiv any idea, whit A haed tae come throu acause o'im?!”  
Intelligencer simply gasped under the weight of that gaze and froze in place like deer in the headlights. Until now he thought that he already knew the view of Demoman's genuine loathing, but one look into his darkened with rage iris was enough to prove him wrong. Now he saw his lover's hate in it's full glory and for the first time in many years agent was truly intimidated.  
“A knaw A wis born tae be a monster.” Grenadier barked viciously, baring his teeth. “But he helpit me tae become ane.”  
In those words Frenchman felt the pain inflicted by every terrified gasp grenadier's ever heard, of every lonely, cold night he had to suffer, of every word, stare and even gesture which indicated, that his disfigured face made Highlander some worse kind of human being. Spy could almost count all the tears his proud Scotsman swallowed, trying not to show how much such treatment hurt him. And that was just a small portion of agony that filled Cyclops' soul, what made masked mercenary even more infuriated. One missing eyeball was more than enough to made this proud, honourable man unworthy of love, friendship or even simple acceptance – no, these were reserved for people matching the standards of human beauty. That was simply disgusting. But, despite fact that agent's anger demanded proper punishment for Merasmus' doings, he also knew the price that comes with every revenge. He simply couldn't let his beloved grenadier to pay it and lost some part of his soul which couldn't be replaced. That... That was not an option.  
“You're not a monster.” Infiltrator placed his hands on Demo's roughly shaved cheeks, forcing him to look him into eyes. “You're many things, but not this one.”  
“Hou can ye knaw that?” There was something almost disparaging in Scot's voice, but Spy decided to ignore it.  
“Monsters aren't capable of love” he said, watching grenadier's amber eye.  
He could only guess, why hot, almost burning drops fell on his fingers, but they were far better than raging fury he witnessed few seconds ago. Many years ago he learned that the best way of extinguishing fire consuming humans heart was salty water in shape of tears. That was why he accepted their bitter, sorrowful presence, hoping that his soft whispers and warm kisses will suffice to drain them.

  
**5\. Anxious**   
_Uneasy and apprehensive about an uncertain event or matter; worried._

  
_Just three words. He already knows._  
He had to do this. That simple confession was nothing, compared to what agent did for him. Without that wonderful, enormously patient man he'd be far worse person than he was now. Yes, infiltrator had his undeniable flaws, but they didn't really matter – no one was perfect, so it would be cruel to demand such thing from any human being. But despite those little cracks on his character, Frenchman managed to be kind, warm and really gentle person who was ready to give other's his won heart without wishing anything as a prize for his efforts. And that simply couldn't do – his actions and devotion deserved some gratification. Of course these words weren't enough to thank him for all of his deeds, but they were a good start. They simply had to be spoken and Cyclops finally was ready to voice his feelings towards his beloved intelligencer. Almost ready.  
Despite his nerves, eventually he he ended at the Spy's threshold with hand risen and stomach tied in the knot. Damn, he shouldn't be sober for that. But this time he wanted to be as conscious as it was possible – saying the truth was too important matter to stain it with turbid fog of with intoxication.  
“I know you're standing there.” Agent's voice was a bite muted by the door and walls, but the hint of amusement was unmistakeable. “You can come in.”  
Most of people expected infiltrator's room to be an epitome of tidiness, but the truth was slightly different. Of course there weren't any dirty clothes on the floor or trashes under his desk, but still it was quite visible that it's bachelor's bedroom with all of the consequences of the fact – cigarettes and ashtrays were almost everywhere, books and magazines were stacked in hectic piles on almost all of horizontal surfaces and there was also that dartboard with RED Sniper's photo pinned in the middle of it.  
“I thought you were in your workshop today.” Master of disguise put away the newspaper he was reading and gestured towards the spare chair. “Something happened?”  
“We need tae talk.” Grenadier sat dawn and watched his host as he was pulling out his cigarette case.  
Frenchman was a true master of self-control, but this time even not much discerning observer would notice that for a slight moment he froze and a shadow of worry flashed through his usually inscrutable face. Or maybe Highlander was imagining things? Probably yes.  
“I'm listening.”  
 _Just say it. You know you have to._  
“A luve ye.”  
Spy looked at him and smiled lightly, pouring pure warmth into his tormented with anxiety soul. Despite the fact, that these words were subtext of every interaction between them, from holding hands to restless night they shared, hearing them seemed to be one of the most pleasant things in agent's life – his eyes were filled with almost heavenly delight and they watered a bit, showing how hard it was for him to stay calm.  
“I love you too.”

  
**93\. Sympathetic**   
_Of, expressing, feeling, or resulting from sympathy._

  
Recent events showed, that saving important questions for later and hoping, that one day Demo will answer them on his own volition was not only pointless, but also can be dangerous at times. Agent was aware of the fact that his own life was filled with really perilous secret and mysteries, but even for once in his life he had nothing to do with magic. And, to be honest, he'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much. Unfortunately, supernatural incidents seemed to be something almost casual for his favourite Scotsman, therefore intelligencer was forced to at last accept the fact that there were magicians in this world and now he was the one responsible for fixing what one of them broke. _Fantastique_.  
“How did you lost your eye?”  
Cyclops jumped on his stool and turned towards him, small screwdriver and few wires in his hands. Infiltrator smiled to himself, but managed to withhold his chuckle. No matter how hard he tried to stop himself from startling one-eyed mercenary, he still found it too amusing to really give up this quite nasty habit. The face grenadier made every time was simply too precious to describe it.  
“Whit?” Highlander managed to regain his composure and put his tools down.  
“I want to know what happened. Exactly” explained masked mercenary. “And this time I'd like to hear this story without alcohol's contribution, if you don't mind.”  
Demo watched him for a longer while, probably trying to figure out if he can turn his lover down and get away with it, but thankfully at this stage of their relationship he already knew that such solution wasn't really an option and he may as well tell him the story now, without trying anything stupid first. With this painful, but quite logical resolution bombardier wiped his hands in some stained rug he found on his workbench and gestured towards the spare chair, suggesting that it would for the best if Frenchman considered sitting down.  
“A... A deana knaw hou tae start it.” Demo sighed heavily. “Dae ye knaw onything aboot ma faimily?”  
“Close to nothing, to be honest.” Spy shrugged nonchalantly. “The only thing I know for sure is your last name. And I heard that the best demolition experts in the worlds come from your clan.”  
“That's true.” Scotsman nodded, pride visible in his only eye. “But awthing comes with price.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“We hiv tae work real hard tae achieve this.” Grenadier sighed and reached for the bottle of Scrumpy, but agent swatted his hand away. “Oi!”  
“I asked you to remain sober, remember?”  
“Awricht, awricht...” Other mercenary glared daggers at him, but refrained from getting the bottle. “A mean... We tends tae keep as many jobs as possible. Ma paw had thirty jobs!”  
“ _Mon Dieu_.” Infiltrator looked at him with concern. “And how many do you have?”  
“Juist three, daena wirry.” Highlander smiled. “An A haed anely ane job at time when A wis wee boy. An few part-time jobs.”  
“... Right.”  
“Sae, whin A wis... A daena knaw, mebbe twelve year auld... Ma mum tauld me tae find a job during Halloween.” Demo picked up abandoned screwdriver and started to play with it, trying to occupy his hands. “An that's hou I met Merasmus. He hecht tae pay for cleanin 'is leebrar an... An it daedna end wall.”  
“I can imagine.” Frenchman's knowledge about magicians could be written down on a single sheet of paper, but still he suspected that their households weren't particularly safe places not only for children, but also adults. “That's where you found that... Talking book?”  
“Aye. Bombinomicon.” Scot sighed. “A knaw A shoudna appen it, but A daed. The next thing A remember A was alone an ma eye wis gane.”  
“And Merasmus?”  
“Gane too.” Cyclops shrugged and tried to reach the bottle, once again without any success. “An naebody believed me. A daena blame thaim.”  
“And what happened in motel...” Agent took the Scrumpy and hid it behind his back, ignoring his companion's disapproving glare. “What was that?”  
“Bytimes A... A hear 'im. Bombinomicon, A mean.” Grenadier tried to do anything to make his words more nonchalant than they were, but somehow shrugging and almost broken smile weren't enough to achieve this. “Whan me eye is covered he canna posses me, but...”  
It wasn't anger what intelligencer felt. Anger was something fierce and burning, something what usually managed to clench his teeth and tighten fists, but that was something else. That... That was simply wrong what happened to his lover and he had no one to accuse for all of this mess, because, unfortunately, there was no one responsible for such thing as fate. For some reason Demo seemed to collect troubles and misadventures, but why? Infiltrator had no idea. But still, he knew it was wrong. Really, really wrong. For the first time in his life he couldn't tell what was happening in his own heart, but it wasn't anything good, that was for sure. Frenchman could quite easily accept the fact, that world wasn't something meant to be perfect, since it's flaws were what made it more spectacular, but that was something else. Like someone decided, that this man's life was supposed to be miserable. And that shouldn't have happen.  
“I'm sorry” he said finally, sighing deeply.  
Perhaps it was for the bast that Scot said nothing and instead hugged him, nuzzling his covered with mask temple. Of course it couldn't fix anything, but still it helped somehow lost intelligencer to hold him as close as it was possible.


	9. Chapter 9

**30.Drained**   
_Emptied or exhausted._

  
“ _Mon Dieu_ , how much I hate them.” Spy leaned against a bit moist, concrete wall, doing his best to keep vertical position. “Why can't they build those nasty sentries somewhere else for exchange? Why always Intel room?”  
Grenadier chuckled darkly, making another attempt at persuading his legs to stop bleeding. Their last so-called assault at Engineers' nest in mentioned chamber forced them to rethink many of their life choices, especially signing contracts for BLU. They barely managed to escape and their only option was rather pathetic, but surprisingly effective jump into the sewers through the hole in small shed on their enemy's base yard. It wasn't the best hiding spot in the world, but there was a small spawn of supplies nearby, so they were able to patch at last the most sever wounds and get enough ammo to defend themselves from sudden attack of bypassing Scout. But even this small advantage couldn't change the fact, that they were simply exhausted – no matter how hard they tried to destroy those nasty turrets, they failed terribly every single time. Now, after few hours of fighting, both agent and bombardier could barely walk, not to mention run for their lives or do anything more constructive like doing their job. And, what was even worse, there were no chances for winning this round – it was already 2:0 for RED team and the only reason why the mission was still on, was impenetrable line of defence in their own Intel room. But, unfortunately, Heavy, Soldier and Pyro's presence there meant that the infamous dynamic duo of sentry slayers was on their own and they couldn't count on any form of back-up. Saying that these circumstances made them frustrated would be the understatement of the month.  
“I have enough.” Intelligencer sighed and reloaded his almost empty gun. “I need some vacation.”  
“Aye. Me too.” Demoman plopped onto the floor, ignoring the fact that he was sitting in the water now. “But whit nou?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Dae we sit here like two fearites, or we'll try tea dae at last nae loss terribly?”  
To be perfectly honest, Frenchman's greatest wish was to just stay here and wait patiently for the end of the round, but it would be too easy. Despite their current attitude – or more like the complete lack of it – they still were professionals and had some form of honour. They simply couldn't just neglect their task and pretend that nothing happens around here. Besides, such behaviour would be totally unfair to their equally tired team-mates who were doing their best not to lose too fast. No matter how hard masked soldier of fortune tried not to think about going up there and fighting, he simply could give up.  
“I'm afraid we have to continue what we started.” Spy almost couldn't believe they really were about to do this.  
“A wis afeart ye'd say something like that.” Cyclops tried to get up, but his legs simply couldn't bear his weight and the poor man fell on his back. “We daena hiv a choice, dae we?”  
“ _Non_. We don't.” Agent lent him a hand, hoping that he'll manage not to soak his already ruined jacket.  
Having no other agreeable option, grenadier finally got on his one and a half leg, trying to refrain from falling into water once again. It was obvious, that he had no real intention of going anywhere, enemy's territory included, but he also really didn't want to admit it – DeGroots were famous of many things, but not for quitting. Infiltrator understood him and didn't judge his sudden lack of energy. Getting back into this pointless struggling was no pleasure for him either.  
“Tell you what.” He grabbed Highlander's arm and started to walk towards the stairs leading to the main part of base. “If we somehow survive this madness, we're getting at last one week off.”  
“A luve ye.” Demo smiled weakly, following him slowly.  
“But first we're going for the intel.”  
“A hate ye.”

  
**21\. Creative**   
_Characterized by originality and expressiveness; imaginative._

  
That went bad. Not “hey, let's eat these berries, they can't be that poisonous” bad, more like “invading Russia in winter” bad. Of course they just _had_ to go to the Intel room – damned professionals' pride – and get few new, quite fancy holes in their sorry asses. Surprisingly, they somehow managed to grab the case in this chaos (how exactly, he had no idea. Perhaps it was another mystery of the Universe), but the chances that they'll manage to keep it were close to zero. Spy was already unconscious and Scot had to carry not only these bloody documents, but also his beloved master of disguise. In any other circumstances perhaps he would be able to get back to the base, but unfortunately aforementioned circumstances were far from anything what could be called normal. They were on their own, and somehow Cyclops suspected that the rapidly growing stain on his vest was fuelled by his own blood, what never was a good sign. Besides, for some reason unknown to him, his knees refused to work properly and every few steps he needed to lean against the nearest wall to regain his already disturbed balance. It was almost impossible for him to get them out of this Hell in one piece, but he had no other choice.  
Thankfully, almost all members of the RED team were busy with penetrating their enemies Intel room, what gave grenadier some time to think about his next step. He couldn't just walk there, not with both intelligencer and the case in his hands. He had to drop at last one of them, but it was impossible for poor Highlander to choose which one. Of course their main goal was to secure these bloody papers, but he'd never forgive himself abandoning his sublimate in this shit-hole. That simply wouldn't be... Right. Probably agent himself wouldn't mind (he was far too professional for such sentimental sacrifices during work hours), but still bombardier couldn't do this.  
After few minutes of slow wandering through emptied corridors, Scot found something what could save him from his troubles. That was the first time in his history of service when proud son of Ullapool almost cried with happiness seeing enemy's Teleport pointing his own base. Normally he would destroy the damn thing without any second guesses, but this time he stopped himself from doing that. Instead, he carefully put Frenchman on the ground and tried to contact anyone from his team.  
“Demo? Hey pal!” Runner chirped happily, what sounded quite funny, considering all of explosions in the background. “Whatcha doin'?”  
“A'm tryin' tae get oot of there.” Grenadier sighed heavily. “Scout, listen tae me. Dae ye see enemy's Teleport?”  
“Nooo... But I can look for it. Why?”  
“Acause A'm tryin' tae send yer father throu this thing an A need ye tae receive the delivery. ”  
“No prob.” Batter seemed to be completely OK with this idea, like usual when it came to do something ridiculous without proper research. “I'll let ya know when I find it.”  
To be perfectly honest, Demoman had no idea, how exactly Spy's camouflage worked, but what he definitely knew was that disguise allowed agents using enemy's Teleports. According to his observations, all he needed to do was to open cigarette case, pick one of various paper masks hidden there, put one on Frenchman's face and voilà! agent should be in BLU base in no time. That was the theory of course, but it was everything he had, so...  
To be perfectly honest, he thought this famous disguise device would be better secured from unauthorised personnel, but everything Scotsman had to do to display famous masks, was to push a small button on case's back. Well, considering his current situation, the simpler it was, the better, especially since he heard more and more vigorous sounds of fighting from the field.  
“Yo, Cyclops, ya still there?”  
“Aye, lad.” Grenadier stretched elastic band and put the piece of paper on its place, covering infiltrators cheeks and forehead.  
“I secured the Teleport, but ya better hurry!” Kid seemed to be more excited than scared. “They're comin'!”  
Whispering profanities under his breath, Demo moved his beloved on the device's shining platform and waited for the miracle to happen. For few seconds he thought that all of this effort was in vain, but finally his prayer was listened and Spy disappeared.  
“I got him!” Batter laughed. “I can't believe it worked.”  
“Aye.” Scot sighed, smiling to himself. “A cannae believe it too.”

  
**47\. Grumpy**   
_Surly and peevish; cranky._

  
“You're kidding me.” Batter clutched the blanket he was covered with, trying to ignore its unpleasant, antiseptic smell and texture of a hedgehog's backside.  
“ **Nein**.” Medic sighed and rolled his eyes, throwing stained with blood utensils into the steriliser. It wasn't like he was going to switch on the device, but it was quite big and could easily serve as a cabinet, so there was no real reason not to use it that way. “Have I ever told you a joke?”  
“There must be the first time for everything.” Runner looked at him pleadingly.  
“ **Ja**. And I also heard hope dies last.” Doctor shrugged and closed metal doors. “I'd say I'm sorry, but in fact I am not. We have pover shortage and I can't use ze Quick-Fix. You'll have to stay zere for the night.”  
That was precisely what they needed after long night of fights – close to no electricity. Most of the team was lucky enough to go through respawn system at the end of the round, but unfortunately Spy, Engineer, Scout and Demo had to enjoy so-called traditional medicine. Thankfully they weren't dying, but still their condition was still too serious to let them out of there and sleep in their own rooms. Scot as usual seemed unmoved by those unfavourable circumstances, mostly because he was a bit dizzy, but it couldn't be hold against him – after such amount of anaesthetics everybody would be completely numb. Tex also remained calm, but it was hard to guess if he really was indifferent to his own condition, or he was already boiling with rage underneath these protective lenses, but no one was brave enough to ask him. Agent of course wasn't delighted either – he simply hated to be immobilized, but there was nothing he could do. Doctor was clever enough to put him to sleep first, and then take his cigarette case, watch and trousers. It would be really hard to call infiltrator prude, but still he had some dignity, so walk of shame through the base and mooning more than a half of his co‑workers was not an option.  
“Do I really haffta stay here for the night?” Kid probably knew that this struggle is completely pointless, but still he was unable to give up without proper fight. “Doc, come on, I promise I'll be good.”  
“No, you von't be. I knov you.” Physician patted his head in parent-like manner and produced small candy from his pocket. “Nov eat it and don't be such a baby. Sleeping here can't kill you.”  
“Wanna bet?” Youngster shot him truly dreadful glare, but after a second he gave up and put the candy in his mouth.  
“Doc, do you really thing that giving him sweets before going to bed is a good idea?” Conagher rose one eyebrow and looked at the surgeon.  
“I don't care.” Medic shrugged and grabbed keys to his office. “I don't sleep here. Good night, gentlemen.”  
“ _Trou du cul_.” Muttered Spy, when their infamous sawbones leaved them alone.  
“Whatever you say.” Engie shrugged and fell on the small, pink pillow Pyro managed to give them before surgeon shooed him away.  
“I said, he's an asshole.” Agent looked at his jacket hanging from the chair and sighed. “Can someone with legs bring me my cigarettes?”  
“I have no hands.” Inventor showed him his stumps with a crooked smile. He seemed to be rather calm for someone whose wrists were cut in half with a sword, but again, it could be only a façade.  
“Scout?”  
“Yes, _dad_?”  
“... Would you kindly get up and fetch me my cigs?” Intelligencer sometimes wondered how it was possible that he managed not to kill this little shit he had for son. “Please?”  
“No.” Kid stuck his tongue out. “You can't smoke here, remember?”  
“Listen to me, sweet child of mine.” Frenchman's patience were growing more and more thinner with his offspring's every word. “Explosion took my legs from me, I had at last three pieces of I don't know what in my stomach and now I have to spend a whole night in this dungeon, because I can't call it a proper infirmary. Either you give me my nicotine, or I'll slice your throat the first moment I'll get close to you. Is that clear?”  
“Leave him alone, Spook.” Dell sighed and tried to throw something at him, what was extremely difficult without any fingers. “You're not alone here and I won't stand the smell of cigarette smoke, do you understand?”  
Probably there would be some causalities if Demo didn't made the sound of dying seal and sat up. Normally they won't be even a bit interested, because really, what can be interesting in some guy who just managed to go back from la-la land, but this time they had a chance to see a real show. Thank to the eerie, blue light in the ward there was something almost intimidating in Scots slow movements as he rose from the sheets like a vampire getting up from his coffin. For a moment he just watched them in silence, but then his face widened in truly wicked smile. For a split second Spy was afraid that it was Bombinomicon's doing, but when grenadier opened his mouth to speak, agent sighed with relief.  
“A hiv an idea.”

  
**90\. Silly**   
_Lacking seriousness or responsibleness; frivolous._

  
Their favourite Highlander was some kind of specialist in many more or less useful fields and drinking games for sure were one of them. Of course their current condition and a lack of any proper beverages (even Scot wasn't desperate enough to touch desaturated alcohol from Medic's personal stock) didn't let them get even tipsy, but still demolition expert's idea seemed to be the best one. _Primo_ , it was the only way to wear all of Scout's energy coming from sudden sugar rush. Well, they could make poor kid to run laps around the lab, but this way he'd probably hurt himself or worse, broke some of doctor's glassware, what would be unfortunate, to put it lightly. _Secundo_ , it occupied agent's mind and helped him to forget about how much he needed a cigarette. All of his companions vigorously refused to let him smoke here, so he had to forget about sweet and wonderful thrill of nicotine. _Tertio_ , despite the fact that “Who Am I” was one of the less complicated pastimes in the world, Engineer seemed to relax and the rest of them decided, that his piece of mind is worthy playing this game.  
“So... Am I a real person?” Runner frowned, instinctively trying to see the card attached to his forehead with a bandage.  
“Yes, you are.” Tex smiled and sipped some water from the glass he was keeping between his bent knees.  
“Here.” Demo put a piece of cannula into his drink, so he could use it as a straw.  
“Thanks, pardner.”  
All of them were gathered around intelligencer's bed since he was the only one who couldn't walk anywhere. The other obstacle they had to overcome was an evident lack of inventor's fingers, but after few readjustments they managed to find a way around it, namely they made Scotsman responsible for writing for him. In the process, it transpired that Scout's handwriting was a complete mess (what was rather strange for someone who could draw so well) and no one was able to read Frenchman's cursive. Anyway, after some preparations the game could begin and all of them was getting surprisingly good time.  
“Am A drunk?” asked grenadier, leaning against bedstead.  
“No, it's still morphine.” Frenchman smiled gently and patted his ankle which was placed next to his hip. “And no, the person you're acting as is not drunk. At last for most of the time I hope.”  
“Oh.” Highlander creased his nose. “Then A daena knaw.”  
“Don't give up so easily.” Dell gestured towards him, trying to pat his shoulder, but once again he realized he hadn't the equipment to do that. “... Well. Am I a female?”  
“No!” Laughed the youngest mercenary. “Definitely not!”  
“Don't make this too easy for him.” Spy sighed and frowned slightly. “All right. Am I fictional character?”  
The time slowly passed as they asked more and more precise (and ridiculous, to be honest) questions, trying to guess their 'identity', even if at some point they partially lost hope to achieve that goal. But there was no point in ruining the fun – even if they were constantly failing, the attempts were comical at times.  
“Wait a minute.” Demo looked like someone who was about to pass out or experience some king of enlightening. “Who wrat ma card?”  
“Scout, why do you ask?” Engie rose one eyebrow, looking at him suspiciously.  
“A'm Miss Pauling.”  
Both agent and labourer burst out laughing much to runner's disapproval, but they couldn't care less – batter's obsession with that particular girl was not only legendary, but also annoying at times, and every single person in this base was teasing him about it. Perhaps it was cruel, but still not even one of them could be called at last a decent person, not to mention good one.  
“Not. Funny.” Kid pouted and crossed his arms.  
“Unfortunately, you're wrong _mon Cyclope_.” Infiltrator cleared his throat, but still he hadn't managed his smile to disappear. “But that was worth it.”  
“Well, that's my turn.” Tex hummed silently. “Do I have a moustache?”  
“Yes.” Batter nodded.  
“Hm. I am a non-fictional male, big, strong, not an American... And not someone from our team... And I have...” He smiled to himself. “I am Saxton Hale.”  
“That was _too easy_.” Boy looked at Scot and frowned. “That was all you could come up with?”  
“Morphine. Remember?” Grenadier shrugged.  
“Son, stop it. Darling, don't let him provoke yourself.” Infiltrator sighed. “Let me think... I am real but somewhat fictional male, very old, thin, I know him but Demo doesn't... I'm from Australia... Hm... Oh, I know! He snapped his fingers. “I'm Old Nick.”  
“That's right, Spook.” Engie nodded. “Now, there's only two of you.”  
“Shit.” Scout chew on his lip, scratching his nose. “Wait, wait, wait... I am and old, tall, insane, scary and handsome man I know... Am I an asshole?”  
“Yes!”  
“Then I am Medic.”  
“ **Ja**?”  
All of them jumped on their sits and turned towards the door where stood rather unimpressed Medic in his perfectly white nightgown. The man seemed rather calm, but if stare could kill, all of them would be already dead. Twice.  
“Do you have any idea vhat time is zis?” Surgeon readjusted his a bit crooked glasses. “Can't you sleep like normal people?”  
“No?” Kid smiled widely, knowing, that if sawbones heard his last words, he can't make his situation worse than it already was. “But you can join us if you like.”  
Doctor looked at him first, then at his more and more amused companions, and finally at the clock, then sighed like someone, who wasn't pain enough to deal with this **Scheiße**. But after that short moment of this nervous breakdown he walked towards them, grabbing one of the spare chairs.  
“ **Dummkopfs**.” He muttered, sitting between Demo and Engineer. “Vhat are ze rules?”


	10. Chapter 10

**57\. Lazy**   
_Conductive to idleness or indolence._

  
“Finally, some civilisation.” Murmured Spy, stretching on the bed with a deep, satisfied sigh. It seemed that few hours spent in Scotsman's Jeep drained the last drops of his energy and now all he was able to do, was to display himself on some flat and relatively comfortable surface, and just wait for the dinner time.  
Although they probably could try to make a trip to the Boston at one go (not like it was a good idea, but sitll), both of them were far too exhausted to really consider it, and decided that it would be for the best to make at last one stop to take some rest and eat something decent. Agent persisted that they needed to take their chance and sleep in a proper bed and that's how they landed in probably the fanciest hotel in whole Manchester. To be honest, bombardier couldn't care less – for him even rocks and floor were acceptable places for a nap – but infiltrator seemed to be more than delighted, so his one-eyed companion didn't say a word about it. It was really nice to watch him finally relaxed and even lightly smiled, so there was no point in telling him how much of a snob h was.  
“Sae, this is hou proper beed leuks like?” Cyclops sat beside him, caressing his unmasked face with fondness reserved for him and him only.  
“Watch and learn.” Frenchman leaned against his palm, almost purring like a cat. “This is real comfort.”  
Grenadier chuckled to himself and decided against telling him, that in his line of work he saw many various places, estates, palaces and even castles included, so he was perfectly educated in the field of luxury. What's more, he was an owner of a true mansion after all, so he could say a word or two about spending capital on sophisticated furniture and other things like that, but, to be honest, he never really cared about money and being reach. The work itself was what he was after, and the personal gain he acquired was just a bonus. But still, it was rather pleasant to see his lover enjoying himself on really cozy, King Size bed and perfectly clean covers. Despite what he said, Spy _loved_ to be spoiled and Highlander was more than happy to satisfy his desires in this department. With a soft sigh he reached and loosened a bit agent's tie, trying not to mess with complicated knot and undid the first button of his slightly wrinkled shirt. Master of disguise said nothing, but slightly opened one aye, watching him with a drowsy smile on his thin lips. He seemed to be a bit tired and worn out, but still there was an aura of content around him. For the first time in a long time they had a chance not only to rest abut also spend some time together in peace, knowing, that there was no one to disturb them.  
Surprisingly, despite the fact Demoman was a true fan of explosions and making mess in every place he happened to appear in, he found watching almost sleeping agent truly pleasurable. For a longer time he had a feeling like he was petting a napping cat, but for the whole time Scot remembered that in fact he had to do with a human being. Very, very attractive and appealing even in his current slumber-like state of total relaxation.  
“What's on your mind?” asked intelligencer, shifting slightly to make himself even more comfortable.  
“Ye.” Demo slowly crawled atop of him and looked him in the eye.

  
**7\. Aroused**   
_Brought to a state of great tension; feeling great sexual desire._

  
Spy never was good at denying himself anything, so he never really tried. First of all, there was no point in making his life more miserable than it really had to be, and second, there were many things simply too precious to let them pass. Like for example simply obscene smile which decorated Scotsman's flushed face. That was truly a view to die for – two full, perfectly shaped lips which were either God's greatest creation or Devil's most wicked weapon. Probably both. It seemed almost impossible that something so soft and almost velvet-like could be at the same time pliant and firm. This beautiful sappy fruit of pleasure just asked to be tasted, licked and bitten, and agent had no strength to stop himself from doing so. With a devious smile he reached forward and pushed buoyant lower lip with his thumb, basking in it's delightful texture. Silent hum of satisfaction escaped his throat when warm tip of Cyclops' tongue reached his fingertip, tickling it slightly. Most of the time grenadier welcomed gladly any kind of his lover's advances, but when they were alone like this, he could be truly obscene.  
“Beautiful” murmured infiltrator, slightly increasing pressure to the point, when he could feel the sharp line of teeth hidden behind soft flesh.  
Bombardier smiled lightly and sucked Frenchman's thumb into his mouth, covering it with saliva and nibbling gently, still smiling playfully. Frenchman wondered, how it was possible for him to oversee such erotic potential, but thankfully he managed not only become this man's friend but also seduce him, so he could make up for his previous mistakes. With a deep sight he reached to the Highlander's nape and scooped him closer, finally touching these beguiling lips with his owns, slowly opening them with slow strokes of tongue.  
Demoman leaned against him with a low growl, pressing himself against other mercenary's tight. It wasn't hard to tell he was more than eager to get involved in some more intimate activities, but agent had no intention of pleasing him – not _yet_ , anyway. He wanted his lover to enjoy every single second of this encounter and let them both lost themselves in slow, sensuous touches and pleasures unavailable in unfavourable environment of their base. They deserved really wonderful reward for all of their efforts during last weeks, and making love in posh hotel would do just perfectly.  
Spy sighed with content, when those already swollen lips wandered towards his jaw and neck, laving there heavy, a bit moist spots which lingered on his covered with sweat skin. Every kiss was slightly different – some were lighter than whispers, subtle and almost intangible, then some fell heavy upon his artery, stealing low moans right from his larynx. Intelligencer would gladly agree to do simply _anything_ to feel this intoxicating sensation every night and day. There were only few thing better than this and hopefully he'll be able to experience all of them this night.  
Oh, that was something to _live_ for.

  
**91\. Stressed**   
_Suffering sever physical strain or distress._

  
Cyclops had to admit, that driving with agent on passenger's seat was quite interesting experience. First of all, finally he learned that, in fat, there was something like right-handed traffic and he should obey it's completely unreasonable rules. Second, their discussion about various measurement systems was not only interesting but also quite fierce. For a long time they couldn't agree which system is the supreme one and should be used everywhere – agent of course preferred metric system, calling it 'the only logical and properly organised one', while grenadier insisted that Scots units of length are far better than these from not only Imperial system, but any other else in the whole world. They stopped their quarrel only when Highlander almost caused a crash and only by some miracle managed to hit the brakes in time to stop the car from riding right into a tree. After this incident they both decided to avoid the topic in the nearest future, but also till the end of the time.  
Unfortunately, even that rather unexpected event couldn't make Demo forget about what they were abut to do. In theory their travel to Boston was supposed to be just a social visit, but for poor Scot it was something between a suicidal mission and the death sentence. He was going to finally meet _Her_ – the most perfect, loving and kind person in agent's life and, to be honest, Cyclops already was at the verge of panic. He was perfectly aware of the fact, that there were only few things in him which could be truly loved, but compared to that almost divine woman he was absolutely nothing. Just a pathetic, worthless drunkard who for some ridiculous reason deluded himself that he had a chance to win infiltrator's livelong affection. She saved him from a depression, gave him better life, son and love, helped him to forget about pain and betrayal. She was unbelievably beautiful, filled with grace and was sophisticated like a duchess. She was everything what a human being could dream about and much more, upstaging anyone who would like to find his place in intelligencer's heart. And Highlander? He was nothing. He wasn't able to save even himself from his personal demons, not to mention helping anyone with any simple tasks. Grenadier had absolutely nothing worth giving, his soul and life included. He was wicked, disfigured and intimidating one-eyed monster whose glare could make a kid cry and wet his sheets. He was everything, what people was learnt to avoid at all costs and, what was even worse there was nothing he could do to change this situation.  
But, despite his low self-esteem, keeping his current position wasn't what he was mostly afraid of. He knew, that She and Spy couldn't be together for reasons he couldn't fully understand, but were really important for agent, so he respected them. No. Highlander was frightened by very thought of upsetting her in any way – what, in his opinion, simply had to happen at some point. His manners resembled those of cavemen, but even these were almost sophisticated comparing to his sense of humour and tact. Well, that latter almost didn't exist, not only when he was completely sloshed. And now he was supposed to spend an afternoon in company of his soul-mate, his best friend (yes, Scout also promised to come, he simply didn't want to travel with them) and the most important woman in life of these two. Just... Perfect. _Perfect_. Why did he even agree to that?! What he was thinking?!  
“Well, this is it.” Intelligencer sighed and readjusted his tie. “We can buy some flowers in the shop behind a corner. Ready?”  
“A-Aye.” Demoman lied, reaching to his seat belt and hoping that the shaking of his hands remained unnoticed.  
Frenchman observed him for a short while, frowning slightly like he was thinking about something unpleasant. Scotsman froze in place like a deer in a highlights – something told him that the already managed to do something wrong, but then Spy was manoeuvring over handbrake, muttering something about his age and the lack of space for such acrobatics. After few attempts at relocating himself from his seat, infiltrator finally gave up and grabbed grenadier's collar, hauling him closer. Cyclops initially wanted to ask him what was going on, but then his mouth was occupied with definitely more interesting activity than talking. For a moment he didn't care about their visit, about Her, his own overwhelming insecurities and knob of gear stick poking his groin. There was nothing more important than the soft, caressing touch of these smooth lips and soft tickling leaved by fingers embracing his cheeks. His whole world shrank into the shape of two perfectly blue irises which were watching him with a care he was still learning to receive and suddenly, grenadier was almost perfectly sure that everything will be just fine.  
“Ready?” asked Spy once again.  
“Aye.” And this time he had no need to lie.

  
**43\. Giggly**   
_Laughing with repeated short, spasmodic sounds._

  
“Mum, no!” Scout looked completely miserable. “That's unfair!”  
“Oh, come on, darlin'.” She chuckled, opening family album and placing it on her lap. “You were so cute as a baby!”  
“Yeah, but... He's my friend! I work with him!” Runner gestured towards Highlander, who, just in case, rose his hands in surrender. “You can't show him my ass naked... Ass!”  
“A saw it awready, if it mak ye feel better.” Grenadier managed to grab a pillow and hide behind it just in time to protect himself from incoming baseball.  
“Boys, boys.” She frowned at her youngest son and pointed the place on couch right beside her, silently commanding him to sit down and shut up. “Let's enjoy this evenin', shall we?”  
Agent shook his head and sighed, leaning against the door-frame. Showing pictures of her sons was one of host's greatest dirty pleasures, and She presented them to literall everyone, who was considered as a current or future addition to the family. And that meant his poor Demoman was about to see so many powdered buttocks and dirty knees, that he'll never even think about having his own children.  
“Oh, look here!” She grabbed Scotsman's sleeve, focusing his attention on the photographs. “It's my youngest. He looked so adorable in these rompers. They should be still somewhere here...”  
“No, you're not looking for them now!” Three or four boys almost stood up to stop her from doing so.  
“All right, all right...” She rolled her eyes. “I was just wondering. And here... Oh... Tavish, you have to see _this_!”  
Almost all gathered in the room men tried to see the picture she was pointing at – the only one completely unmoved by her sudden enthusiasm was the infiltrator himself. He was the one who took almost all of these damned photos and he knew them by heart, so there was no point in breaking his neck in attempt at looking at them once _again_. But before he resigned himself to refill his glass with wine, his instinct suddenly took over, alarming him about incoming danger. Unfortunately, before he managed to do anything to stop the catastrophe, Cyclops, his son and all of his brothers burst with giggling and/or snickered, falling on the floor.  
“What's so funny?” asked Frenchman, snatching the darned album. “This...”  
Oh yes, there was one photo he didn't took. It was made about seven months after Scout's birth, when both he and Her were genuinely exhausted, like most of the parents at some point. She was far more experienced in the field of changing diapers and feeding something what looked more like a worm than a human being, but still Spy tried to help her with everything. Once She decided to document his efforts and made this picture. It showed him with dark bags under his eyes, powder all over his face and neck, ruffled hair, unshaven cheeks and unlit cigarette almost glued to his lower lip. It wasn't that embarrassing, but... Well, compared to the image of himself he created, it was painfully honest and made him no favours.  
“Oh. That's rich.” He rolled his eyes and closed the damned book. “You think that's funny?”  
“Yes!” Runner giggled, covering his mouth.  
“Aye.” Grenadier rolled off the carpet and landed near the table. “Ye leuk cute.”  
“ _Et tu, Brute contra me?_ ” He sighed.

  
**49\. Happy**   
_Enjoying, showing or marked by pleasure, satisfaction or joy._

  
To be honest, Spy was worried a bit if his family will like Tavish. He remembered well how difficult the man could be – some time ago they barely could stand each other – but, to his defence, agent did absolutely nothing to ease their interactions at the time. But he also knew that Scot, if well treated of course, could be truly charming companion and his presence was always something desirable during any kind of social meetings. Cyclops' easygoing attitude, never-ending anecdotes and bright smile were able to melt anyone's heart, even the most wicked and vicious people. If someone as bitter and leery as the master of disguise was able not only to befriend him, but also fell in love with this captivating madman, this glorious Woman should adore grenadier from the bottom of her heart. Her children though... Well, that was a whole different story. In the boys' department intelligencer counted on Scout's influence, since there was absolutely nothing his older brothers could deny him. Naturally for most of the time they simply mocked the kid and treated him like a child despite his age, but they would never do anything to upset or hurt their youngest sibling. So, if runner wanted them to like his best friend, they would do literally everything to show as much respect and positive attitude as it was physically possible.  
Once again it transpired that infiltrator was absolutely right about everything – despite his initial nervousness, after few minutes (and a small glass of something stronger) Highlander visibly relaxed and was his usual, chatty and entertaining self. Everything went smooth, and Frenchman decided to reward himself with congratulatory cigarette. Since batter and his brothers explicitly demanded smoke-free environment (given that almost all of them were sportsmen, professional soldiers or mercenaries, it was rather reasonable request), Frenchman was forced to indulge into the nicotine‑fuelled thrill outside, on the balcony. Not that he really minded – afternoon in company of these eight loud brats could give a headache to everyone, rocks and lampposts included. But, as it transpired, he was deprived of solitude because certain someone decided to join him.  
“So, this is the man who stole ya heart.” She cocked her hip, leaning against the railing.  
“That's right.” He offered her cigarettes, but She shook her head. “What do you think about him?”  
“Ya chose well.” Her smile was warmer than the Sun itself. “He loves ya more than ya can imagine.”  
“Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't remember when we established that loving me could tell anything about someone's character.” Spy rose one eyebrow.  
“It can, in a way.” She chuckled, playing with her bracelets. “Because he loves ya. Not the mask, not the façade, not the pretences... He loves ya. The mess in your room, holey socks, bad habits and everythin' you usually hide from other people. Just... Ya.”  
For a moment agent thought that his heart was about to explode with delight – of course he was aware of the fact, that Demoman's affection was as genuine as it was only possible, but to _know_ something and _hear_ it were two completely different things. From the very beginning of his adult life, infiltrator was an object of admiration and desire of many people, both men and women, but love... Well. That was something else. Once upon a time Frenchman thought that he found that one person he was destined to grow old with, but unfortunately, some women come between them, and her name was _Death_. Then he met Her, the greatest woman in the whole world, who taught him that there were many different shades of love. And Demo... Oh... It was impossible to describe, how much his sentiment meant to Spy, and how liberating was to be loved by someone who demanded absolutely nothing. Nothing! Scotsman treated every agent's smile and gaze like a true treasure, and intelligencer wanted nothing more than to give him everything he deserved and much, much more.  
“Where is Tavish?” he asked, flicking his cigarette onto the street.  
“He's doin' the dishes.” She smiled. “Like I said, ya chose well.”  
Infiltrator strode through the living room and silently slipped into the kitchen, watching grenadier's tall silhouette with a smile on his lips. He liked their life as mercenaries, the adrenaline flowing through their veins and how they were able to cooperate like they could read each other's minds. But seeing him here, doing something so casual and common simply melted his heart. He heard some proverb... Oh, yes. Third time's a charm. Well, he hoped so. Without a second thought, Frenchman leaned against Highlander's wide, warm back, inhaling his scent.  
“Whit's it?” Demoman chuckled, looking from above his shoulder.  
“Nothing” he confessed, closing his eyes. “I'm just happy.”

  
**37\. Envious**   
_Showing extreme cupidity; painfully desirous of another's advantages._

  
_You could have it all._  
Scotsman was... Tired. And perhaps he drank a bit too much. Or not enough. As an almost professional drunker, Cyclops was a bit more immune to alcohol's influence than a statistic citizen, but still at some point he was loosing control over his thoughts, which were taking advantage of his slightly tipsy state and wandered to the darkest places in his mind. Despite the fact he spent truly wonderful afternoon and evening in company of not only his friend and lover, but also truly charming lady and her equally nice sons, he felt a whiff of bitterness in his heart. Grenadier tried so hard to fight it, with some success might be added, but when he and Spy finally leaved and got into the car, Highlander wasn't able to continue this struggle anymore. Maybe he wasn't a monster (he really wanted to believe it), but still, he was a truly rotten and bad man.  
 _You always were._  
Demoman tried not to remember them... But it was so hard. So, so hard. Suddenly, when they were all sitting there, laughing and simply enjoying themselves, it was difficult for him to stop himself from remembering his adoptive parents. Unfortunately, Scotsman was far too young back then to memorize their faces and voices, but he couldn't forget the love thy gave him. Never. These few years spent with them were the only time when he truly felt like a child. And this evening was exactly like his old home – filled with joy, warmth and simple happiness he missed so much. Oh, if he only could turn back time and stop himself before he... Before they...  
 _Before you killed them._  
He really needed a drink. Maybe it could make this voice finally shut up and leave him alone. Of course he knew, that he wasn't allowed to get _that_ drunk – agent would be truly disappointed if he knocked himself out, so Cyclops had to remain just tipsy and pray, so they could get to the hotel and fall asleep soon. He really wanted to remember this evening as a pleasant event, not one filled with grief, self-pity and envy.  
“Something's wrong.” Infiltrator for a second looked away from the road and shot him short, worried gaze. That was more of a statement than a question, and Highlander felt somewhat uneasy, like their so-called mind-reading was really a thing.  
“Ye hiv byous faimily.” Grenadier smiled mirthlessly.  
“I thought you like them.” Frenchman rose one eyebrow and reached to the gear stick.  
“A dae!” Bombardier sat up on passenger's seat, trying to reassure his soul-mate about his feelings. “A dae. A... Luved sittin ther wi thaim. Ye're different than ma parents. An ma mam an paw.”  
For a moment Spy drove in absolute silence, frowning slightly. Something was bothering him, that was for sure, but it was hard to guess, which part of Demoman's utterance made him uneasy. The mystery remained unsolved until they managed to get into their hotel room, where agent shot his partner dark, almost gloomy gaze.  
“Last time I decided against asking you unpleasant questions about your past, I had to stop you from committing a murder.” Infiltrator sat on the bed and took out his cigarettes. “This time I won't make this mistake.”

  
**50\. Hopeful**   
_Having or manifesting hope._

  
Spy couldn't sleep and it wasn't because he was unable to relax in a completely strange room. What made him restless this time was Scotsman's rather depressing story about his absolutely miserable childhood. Of course listening to it – even if Cyclops tried to use as short sentences as it was only possible – made agent sad and upset. Despite that pain he felt I on the bottom of his black heart, intelligencer was really grateful for the tale, mostly because it helped him better understand his lover. For a longest time he could only wonder, what was the soul of their relationship, and now he could name it.  
It was hope.  
 _He loved grenadier, hoping, that the man won't betray him._  
 _And Highlander loved him, hoping, that Spy won't abandon him._  
There was a risk and trust in their affection, but without that poisonous constant fear, which could kill their hearts and shatter every happy memory they shared. Despite all of his fear, bombardier believed that this time everything will be fine, and agent knew that for a change he can drop all of his defences. Both Demoman and infiltrator could be mercenaries, murderers and destroyers of private property, but when they were alone together, they were just two human beings. Not perfect, a bit broken, with few flaws, but, what was probably more important, alive and in love. This bond could easily break them both and leave completely soulless, but instead gave them both more, than he could even imagine.  
 _Scotsman loved him, hoping, that this time he won't destroy the most important person in his life._  
 _And Frenchman loved his one-eyed madman, hoping, that he'll be strong enough to save him from any harm._  
But, regardless the beauty of what was between them, masked mercenary craved one thing, they still didn't have. Maybe it was too much to as for such thing, but, to be honest, he couldn't care less about such things. If there was anything he could gave to them, he'd sacrifice everything to obtain that, no matter what. Besides... There was nothing wrong in his wish. Of course, making it come true will be hard for both of them, but every good thing in life comes at the price.  
Spy wanted to turn _hope_ into _certainty_.


	11. Chapter 11

**73\. Pessimistic**   
_Expecting the worst possible outcome._

  
“I want to meet her.”  
It was definitely far too early to ask any questions and Cyclops was perfectly sure that even this paranoid psychopath knew that, since he wasn't particularity morning person himself. On the other hand, agent probably hadn't sleep at all, so for him it wasn't even a real dawn, but rather another period of time, when he was perfectly conscious and demanded proper conversation from his preys, err, companions. Grenadier was ready to give his lover everything what aforementioned demanded, stars, moon and liquefied sunshine included, but this time, despite his good will, he wasn't able to force himself to emit anything more complicated than simple:  
“Whuuuh?”  
“Your mother of course.” Intelligencer as usual deciphered his gibberish, and continued to torment him with a prolonging conversation.  
“... Ugh?”  
“Well, you know my family now. I want to get to know yours.” Frenchman stood up from the mattress and started to walk through the room. “I don't expect your dear mother to accept me right away, but...”  
 _WAIT A MINUTE._  
Highlander woke up in a nanosecond and sat up rapidly, trying to untangle himself from the covers, but without any success. Instead, he only managed to give himself enough momentum to fall from the bed on the floor and hit the bedside table with an elbow. But this quite unusual coming back to the consciousness was nothing, compared to the drama tormenting his mind.  
That was bad. That was really, really, _REALLY_ bad. Demoman loved his dear mother from the bottom of his heart, but he also knew that Mrs DeGroot was really difficult person and her way of showing any form of affection was... Deliberate. He, as her son, eventually learned that behind the mask of though and pride woman was someone else, but it took him _years_ to realize that. The first time he saw his mum as a fragile human being was after his father's funeral, when she thought that Tavish was already asleep. It was one and only time he saw her tears, but for Scotsman it was something more than a simple revelation – it truly was a turning point in their relationship. Until then, he respected her and even was somehow afraid by her very presence, but it changed. Now grenadier saw her not only as a demanding, unforgiving mentor, but also as a beloved parent. Of course she wasn't perfect. Some people would even call her abusive (and he had no real argument to prove them wrong), but... She was his mother after all. He forgave her everything, what perhaps wasn't the right thing to do, but it was _him_. Other people, Spy included, had no reason to be so merciful.  
“Are ye shuir?” With a little help from his lover Highlander managed to free himself from the covers and sat on the bed.  
“Of course I am.” Agent grabbed his sponge bag and walked to the bathroom. “After everything I've heard about her, I want to pay her a visit. She should meet the man who stole her son's heart, don't you think?”  
 _Aw, Cripe._  
Since the beginning of their relationship bombardier visited his mother more than a dozen times (he couldn't see her too often in case she got suspicions that he a/. lost his job or b/. had enough of free time to get another one), but he never mentioned the bond he shared with Spy. Mostly because he was afraid of her reaction – she was really attached to their family's traditions and her sons unorthodox ways would simply kill her. Even if they've never properly talked about this, it was not hard to guess what she was expecting of him: marriage with a right lass (preferably from the right clan), a child (abducted on an orphanage's threshold of course) and as many explosions as it was only possible. The presence of a male significant other who was not only unable to bear children, but also represented everything what Mrs DeGroot hated from the bottom of her heart, probably wasn't a part of her plans. And Demoman somehow knew that she won't take it well.  
“Uhm... Ye see...” Scot was aware that at this point the catastrophe is inevitable, but he also hoped that decreasing amount of not-lies-exactly-but-also-not-true-statements will somehow soften the blow. “She daesna knaw aboot ye.”  
Intelligencer stepped out of the bedroom, shaving cream on his cheeks, utensils in hands and towel around narrow hips. He didn't seem to be mad or displeased, but there was something in his position, that indicated it would be for the best if Cyclops explained himself.  
“You didn't tell her about us?”  
“A... Haed sae much tribble wi tellin _ye_.” Grenadier sighed, awkwardly scratching his nape. “An A felt ye shoud knaw first, an then A wis afraid o'er reaction...”  
Frenchman chuckled quietly and approached him, leaving razor on the table. A long of time ago they both established that there was nothing more calming and soothing than Spy's gentle kiss, and agent once again proved it. Demoman instinctively rose his hands to cup infiltrator's cheeks, but withheld them in fear of smearing slightly cool foam where it shouldn't be. Usually masked mercenary chuckled once again and moved Highlander's palms right where proud son of Ullapool wanted to put them, slowly opening his lover's lips with soft swipes of tongue.  
“When dae ye want tae see 'er?” asked Demo when they parted to catch a breath.  
“Tommorow” murmured Spy, pushing him onto the matress. “Or the day after.”

  
**86\. Sinful**   
_Marked by or full of sin; wicked._

  
Agent wasn't particularly religious person – on one hand, he deeply believed that there's some God, but on the other, he never felt contributed to the idea enough to become a part of one of many churches. He didn't care who has the most correct picture of that divine power and who's right about it's will, but from time to time even intelligencer wondered about some technical aspects of his belief.  
Since he wasn't a fan of any laws, it was hard for him to describe what exactly a sin was. The definition he found in dictionary said that it would be a 'transgression of religious or moral rules', but it wasn't really precise. Because, what could be completely immoral for one, for the other could be quite all right. There were so many cultures, religions, societies and ways of life that it was impossible for him to find even one deed that would be absolutely wrong under any given circumstances. Even murder at times could be counted as rather reasonable option, what's more, there were some places where murder was a form of justice. But, despite all of that, infiltrator was sure of one thing – if there was anyone on this planet, who deserved to be called a sinner, it was him. He killed, lied, stole and did many other things that were completely against the law, but, what was quite funny, he was forgiven every time. No matter how horrible was the task he had at hands, there was no way he was properly punished for completing it. It seemed that world needed professional transgressors to do the dirty job no one wanted to know about, so there was a place for someone like him after all. After some consideration, Frenchman came up with the resolution, that as a born sinner he should know what exactly a _sin_ was, and therefore he was free to set his own definition of it.  
For him, the sin was everything what made his beautiful Demo sad.  
Treating him like an asset to the family heritage, like someone who had to prove himself worthy to receive at last same attention of the people who not only consciously brought him to life, but also decided that abandoning him was the right thing to do.  
Every single word indicating, that making even fatal mistakes made him some kind of monster who did not deserve love or at last some peace in his already disturbed life of an orphan deprived of all the answers about his origin.  
Filled with hate, mockery and venom glares that tried to rest upon Scotsman's face and eye-patch, trying to convince everybody that it was something bad in not being white or being disfigured.  
Constantly reminding him that he's not good enough for the ones he loves, like it was his duty to fulfil other people's ambitions and dreams, and his only obligation was too follow the steps of those, who made him miserable in the first place.  
These were deadly sins in Spy's eyes, and they needed to be punished.  
But, there was also an almost divine grace in the shape of Cyclops' smile. If he could forgive something, if _he_ was able to pardon people who decided to break his poor heart and soul, there was no need for Spy to get even. All those sinners could live in peace, at last for now.  
Because forgiveness doesn't mean oblivion.

  
**53\. Indifferent**   
_Having no particular interest or concern._

  
_How is it possible to be so loud?_  
Despite his elegant attire and gentle hands, agent never was a delicate flower which needed special protection from the outside world. In fact, it was really, really hard to hurt him (but surprisingly many people tried to achieve this). Of course there were things which were able to annoy intelligencer – human race's stupidity for example – but words usually failed to cause him any emotional pain, especially when he was aware that the thing hidden behind invectives and profanities is nothing else but common fear. That's why he felt absolutely nothing when Mrs DeGroot decided not only to treat him like an air, but also to share her highly unfavourable opinion about grenadier's lover.  
“Whit war ye thinkin? Haed ye thocht aboot the consequences?”  
“Nae.” Highlander seemed to be completely unmoved by his mother's screams, but it was probably because he didn't really listen – probably bombardier learned not to pay attention a long of time ago.  
 _Good strategy._  
“This is simply outrageous!” She smacked him with her cane, trying to make him focus on her instead on walking through the room. “Daed ye forget aboot yer responsibility? Aboot tradition? Yer heir?!” Demoman helped her to sit down on the armchair. “Dae ye really want tae ruin yer faimily's name?!”  
“Nae.”  
Frenchman rolled his eyes and sighed audibly. Now, when he faced this exceptional woman, he could finally understand some if his lover's bad habits. Everyone would develop at last one addiction – even infiltrator would literally kill for a drink now, so probably the reason behind Scotsman's pacing through the room was searching for a bottle of rum or something stronger. The situation would improve if the host stopped yelling, since it would be easier to ignore her rant, if she spoke like a normal person instead of adding the exclamation mark at the end of every sentence.  
“Aw thae years of teachin ye and trainin for naething. Naething!” She turned her head towards her child, following his every step. “Thank God yer puir faither canna see whit ye're duin wi yer life.”  
Masked mercenary rose one eyebrow, but again decided against vocalizing his thoughts. There was nothing he could do with her (at last nothing what Demoman would approve), so the only option left was waiting until the old hag will get tired and finally shut up. Spy had to admit that for someone of her age, Mrs DeGroot was astonishingly energetic – it was like all of the strength she couldn't utilize on blowing things up she was using to make her son and herself miserable.  
“An from aw the wrang people in the world ye haed tae chuise 'im. HIM!” She pointed agent with a tone of accusation in her voice. “Whit can 'e knaw aboot oor heritage? Aboot the airt of demolition?!”  
 _Was that supposed to be an insult? Amateur._  
“He's a mercenary, maw.” Scotsman turned from the bookshelf and shot her disapproving glare.  
“Mercenary, me ass” she muttered and then added louder, “that posh jack-a-dandy wad niver lower himself tae work nae tae mention explosions!” Host swung her cane, gesturing towards her guest. “He's weak and lazy.”  
 _Non. Still nothing._  
“Ye're wrang.” Cyclops sighed and finally found some whiskey hidden behind an old dictionary.  
“A'm niver wrang.” Mrs DeGroot crossed her arms and almost bared her teeth. “An A'm richt aboot him. He'll leave ye in nae time. But ye knaw whit? Daena come tae me when he will acause A winna wipe yer tears. The anely thing ye'll get from me will be big 'A tauld ye'.”  
Agent rolled his eyes and took the bottle form his lover, ignoring his dreadful gaze. Maybe it would be really relieving to get drunk and stop hearing her, but unfortunately they couldn't do that.  
“He winna leave me.” Grenadier plopped onto the sofa and started to play with few wires he produced from his sporran. “He cares aboot me. Even whan A daena want 'im tae.”  
“For nou.” She shrugged and reached forward, trying to find something. Scot sighed and stood up to hand her a blanket. “But ye hiv naething in common. At some point 'e'll get bored of ye an ye will split up.”  
 _This is slowly getting boring._  
“Ye daena knaw that.” Highlander stood beside his lover and grabbed his hand, clutching it a bit too hard, but Spy smiled instead of protesting. Bombardier was probably used to insults addressed to him, but listening such things about his beloved one... Well, that had to be hard.  
“Of coorse A dae. He's nae guid fer ye.”  
“A luve 'im.” Demoman swallowed, clenching his teeth. “An A'm nae here tae discuss it wi ye. Whitiver ye'll say, ye winna change onything.”  
Intelligencer leaned against Demo's shoulder, smiling widely. He never doubted in his soul-mate affection, but he also knew how much Scot loved his mother. It had to be painful for him to oppose her so openly, despite the fact that her social skills made her grumpy and cruel.  
“Luve is fer naïve childer.” Her voice was deep and rough. “Luve passes an leaves naething but a hollow, broken heart.”  
“A daena care.”  
“Sae that's hou is it? Ye think ye knaw better? Well, be my guest.” Mrs DeGroot almost spat out these words. “Gae. Ruin yer life. A coud juist leave ye in this bloody orphanage as well, ye ungrateful...”  
 _Oh no, you won't._  
Frenchman couldn't remain silent any longer. That was it. He could stand every single insult which was supposed to hurt him and only him, but he had no intention of tolerating hurting this man. That was simply too much for him and it had to stop right now.  
“Tavish, would you kindly make us some tea?” Spy whispered to him, trying not to look to devious. “I'm going to be very rude to your mother and I don't want you to see this.”  
“A think A shoud.” Cyclops rose one eyebrow. “She's ma mither.”  
“I will not hurt her.” Agent smiled. “I'm just going to be honest. But you might not like it.”  
“... Fine by me.”

  
**85\. Satisfied**   
_Filled with satisfaction._

  
Before coming here, intelligencer decided to be merciful for this woman. Of course she had her flaws, like all people on the world, and they could be eventually forgiven. He was able to ignore her ranting and almost poisonous words, but at some points even he lost his patience. Despite his elegance and the ability to remain cool despite the odds, infiltrator was also a very cruel man – especially when the weapon of choice was nothing else but honesty.  
“Mrs DeGroot,” he began, taking his cigarette case out, “you've already spoke your mind and we all can agree that your standpoint in this discussion is perfectly clear for all of us. Now it's my turn to take the floor.”  
For obvious reasons she couldn't watch him, but still Frenchman was sure that now he finally got her undivided attention. Until now she ignored him completely, but now, when he finally decided to speak up, she couldn't pretend he wasn't there anymore.  
“I fully understand that you can barely stand my presence not only in your son's life, but also in this room.” Spy put the cigarette between his lips and produced the lighter form his pocket. “You do not like me and, believe me, the feeling is mutual.”  
“At last ye arena stupid, boyo.” Her voice resembled more snake's hissing than human language.  
“I am not,” he agreed. “And you're quite intelligent person too.”  
“Ye bet.”  
“So, I can assume that, despite what you're speaking, you understand your current position.” Agent smiled to himself, trying not to enjoy this, but it was really hard thing to do. “Tavish chose me to be his partner. Wherever I go, he will eventually follow and _vice versa_. Whether you will lost him or not, depends only on you.”  
“Is that sae?”  
“Yes. You see, there's huge difference between the two of us, you and me.” Intelligencer walked slowly towards her armchair, hiding his cigarette case back into it's pocket. “I,for example, don't make him guess whether I love him or not. I don't hide my affection for him under screams and crude words.”  
Mrs DeGroot frowned, listening to him closely. It was obvious, how much she didn't like these words and how angry she was. But, unfortunately for her, Frenchman had nothing against making her upset.  
“Ye're makin 'im soft.” She snorted, readjusting the blanked on her lap.  
“Perhaps. But I don't make him think that he has to fight for my fondness.” Masked mercenary shrugged, ignoring grenadier's a bit worried look. Maybe Spy shouldn't be so happy about causing this woman emotional pain, but at this point he didn't care. “He know it's granted. He can improve if he wants to, but no matter if he make a mistake or not, I will still be in love with him.”  
“Ye're spolin 'im!” She tried to sound furious, but agent knew his words hurt her in a way. Good.  
“Someone has to.” And now, ladies and gentlemen, the last strike. “Besides, at last I have no intention of abandoning him to find out if he's worth my attention or not.”  
That was low, he was aware of that. Probably no one in this world should be cruel enough to say something like that to an old, fragile and blind woman, but he didn't care. If she was strong enough to scream, demand, humiliate and abuse, she could also deal with the fact, that not every inhabitant of this planes was her loving and forgiving son. Infiltrator knew, that she had her reasons – if Tavish was supposed to survive life of a Demolition Man, he had to be tough, hard-working and stubborn bastard. She tried her best to make him strong and resistant, and she did well, that was for sure. But there was a very thin line between being hardened and broken. And, what Frenchman couldn't forgive, was the fact, she didn't care if her son trespassed that border or not.  
“Sae ye think ye're makin 'im better, aye?” She tried so hard to keep her voice straight, still unable to show any sign of weakness.  
“ _Non_ , madame.” Infiltrator sighed. Maybe he should stop it right now, but he had to tell her one thing more. “I don't have to change him and making anything else, he's perfect already. The only thing I really did was to stop him from calling himself a monster.”  
It was strangely pleasant to see pain on her face. Spy was aware, that dwelling in this sight was something simply disgusting, but he wasn't able to find even a small ember of mercy in his heart. Not for this woman. Not for anyone who made his beloved one suffer more than it was necessary. And, what probably made him even worse man, he was happy to hurt her, to make her feel the taste of her own medicine. Yes, it was a bitter pill to swallow, but in his opinion she deserved it.  
“Dautie.” Heavy hand gently stroked his shoulder. “A think it's eneuch.”  
“If you say so.” Agent smoothed sleeves of his jacket.  
“Is 'at true?”  
Even if Mrs Degroot's voice was nothing more than a weak whisper, but still it seemed louder than any of her previous screams. It was voice coming straight from disarmed, vulnerable heart of woman, who rarely was strong enough to be also a mother. Because there's no bravery, no heroism in being indifferent, invincible warrior – the true act of courage is baring your soul and share it, despite the fact someone may see it as an opportunity to attack. And now, after years of concealing all emotions which could make her son see her not as an authority, but as a human being, for the first time she decided to put away her shield and let him see what's hidden beneath it.  
“Whit 'e said... Is 'at true?”  
“Aye.”  
“Why... Why daedna ye tell me?”  
“It hiv naething in common wi' me work or trainin, sae...” Cyclops lowered his gaze. “A thocht ye daena care.”  
And that were probably the cruellest words she could hear, not because they were vicious – they were simply honest. Human being is able to protect himself from lies and brutality, but at the end of the day there's no place to hide from the truth. It always finds a way to a man's mind, no matter how merciless such thing could be. Perhaps that was the reason why this strict and usually unmoved woman rose her hands trying to find her child. And grenadier let these arms hug him tightly, accepting gladly this silent plead for forgiveness.  
And, as much as intelligencer loved to see pain on Mrs Degroot's face, watching this reunion of mother and son was a greatest satisfaction in his life.

  
**96\. Touched**   
_Emotionally affected; moved._

  
It was... Eventful visit, to put it lightly. Highlander never suspected Spy to be so protective, but it wasn't much of a surprise – when it came to his son, agent was ready to fight the whole army to be sure his boy is safe and sound. It was nice to know, that such affection applied also to him. Both his adoptive and biological parents cared for Demo – in their own way, of course – but they also wanted him to be as independent as it was only possible. When something bad in his life was happening, he was the only one he could count on. In Orphanage he learned the same thing and, as the time passed, Scotsman accepted such fate. That's why he was so moved when the man he loved so much decided to guard him with all his passion and strength. That was something unusual in Cyclops' life and it was hard for him to get over it so easily. Even if they leaved his mansion few hours ago and were trying to fall asleep in motel, grenadier was still recalling all of infiltrator's words, trying to engrave them in his memories. For the first time in his life someone stood for him and Highlander wanted to remember this moment. He _needed_ it.  
With a deep sight Demo rolled onto his side, burying his face in Frenchman's ruffled hair. He knew, that the other mercenary wasn't sleeping, but still he said nothing and simply hugged Spy's back to his chest, inhaling scent of the man. There were many things he could never have. Many of them was lost because of his stupidity or wrong choices, sometimes both. But he had this particular person in his arms and that was everything that counted. No matter how twisted and broken he was, Scotsman could always come to his beautiful agent and see pure love in his eyes. Storms could come and cover the sky with heavy, almost black clouds, drowning the world in cold darkness, but still there would be the warmth of his lover's heart beating for him with patience and tenderness. Lost battles, vicious screams, stares filled with disdain – they all didn't matter at all. They had no power over him and finally Cyclops was free from the fear of tomorrow. What will be, will be and there was no point in worrying about it.  
He couldn't believe in everything of course – it would be against his nature to accept all praises without questioning some part of them. That's why he doubted he was perfect. But... He was good enough for the person he loved, so it was almost the same, at last for him. For the whole life grenadier felt that he has to deserve anyone's love, that simply being himself wasn't _enough_. So he tried, tried so hard that he had broken everything what he was trying to save. But there was no need for that anymore. There was that one person in the world who wanted him just because he was there with his beating, filled with affection heart. And despite the fact there were still some cracks in his soul which needed to be fixed, Highlander didn't care about them anymore. Maybe one day they will disappear. Maybe not.  
He already had everything he could wish for.


	12. Chapter 12

**4\. Annoyed**   
_Aroused to impatience or anger._

  
There were many things Demoman didn't like; some of them could be even called reasonable (like enemy turrets – the reasons here should be obvious), some not so much (lino floorings). But there was one thing that made him irritated in a second, and no, it wasn't Merasmus, strange but true. That bastard was a whole different story about loathing and craving bloody carnage, erm, revenge. No. There was one really simple, almost casual little phenomenon which always managed not only to drain all of his patience, but also made his day simply miserable.  
It was rain.  
Some people like when it rains and even dare to romanticize this wet menace, like there could be anything wonderful in water falling from the sky. Fools, every single one of them. They thought that rain meant simply sitting in a sweater with a mug of hot tea, coffee or cocoa, reading books and listening to delicate hum of countless drops falling on leaves, pavements and ground. But what they usually forgot, was that for some people such downpours were something far worse than being chased by a rabid dog. For example, even light drizzle managed to turn Double Cross into moist, slippery Hell on Earth. Wet sand was clinging to their boots, forcing bunch of deadly mercenaries to do acrobatic tricks every time they were trying to veer or run away from enemies, railways were simply too dangerous to walk on them and Pyro were simply furious. But on the top of that catastrophes was Scot's uniform.  
He never doubted that the protection is the most important thing in life of everyone who worked with explosives, but rainy days tended to make him hate his armour. It was heavy and not pleasant to wear on a daily basis, but wet weather was turning it into humid, smelling with sweat and dampness cage. The rest of Cyclops' clothes was doing nothing to make this situation any better. For all of the time grenadier had to suffer drops falling from his hat, his sweater increased his weight at last twice, making moving his hands very, very difficult and his kilt was trying to make absolutely everything to immobilize his legs or at last to stuck to one of them.  
This day simply couldn't get any worse.

  
**38\. Excited**   
_Being in a state of excitement; emotionally aroused; stirred._

  
Coming back to work was as inevitable as annoying for more than one reason. Of course it was really nice to feel the adrenaline rush once again and get back to action, but there was one thing what made Spy a bit miserable, and it was his favourite Highlander's outfit. For a whole week agent could observe his lover in his civilian clothes (and without them, might be added) and was really glad to experience so tasty and delicious sight. Bombardier was a truly handsome man and really tall too, what could be easily missed during their everyday missions. Carrying all these weapons forced Demoman to hunch and round his shoulders, what wasn't particularly appealing. And this armour! What was _that_ supposed to be? Protection or a grave? Hard to say for sure, but it was far too rigid to be comfortable. Saying that intelligencer had really low opinion about the mentioned vest along with other Scotsman's accessories would be understatement of the century. First of all, they were indescribably heavy and taking them off was really, _really_ hard work (and Frenchman could say it from his very own experience). Even now he was almost ashamed of his futile efforts when one time he tried to undress Cyclops completely by himself, and after few really awkward minutes he was forced to finally give up and demand not only demonstration, but also some assist. Since then, infiltrator loathed these disgusting garments from the bottom of his rotten and deviated heart. Second, that vest wasn't doing any favour to grenadier's silhouette. As it was mentioned before, Highlander was constantly stooping and with that... _Thing_ he resembled very angry and very deadly turtle, which was about to hide in his carapace and laugh from people's misfortune. Of course proper protection was very important thing in their line of work, but still this particular armour was the ugliest piece of clothing Spy has seen in his whole life.  
Thankfully, there was some kind of justice in this world and since his beloved one had to wear this hideous vest, he could also present himself in kilt. Initially, agent couldn't care less if his lover was a true Scotsman or not, but now he was really, _really_ interested in what was lying beneath the tartan. And, to his delight, there was absolutely nothing more than God had graced him upon his birth. And that was simply gorgeous. From time to time, if he was paying attention, infiltrator could see a flash of these magnificent tights, making him remember all the nights when he was crouching between them, pleasuring Demoman in all ways he could. There were times when it took all of his self-control to not approach _his_ Cyclops in the middle of the mission, shove him into sewers and snog the hell out of the man, but usually master of disguise managed to stay calm and completely professional. He has his reputation to protect after all – there was nothing more miserable than a Spy who can't pull himself together and conceal his urges.  
But could he be really blamed for giving up his pretences when this wonderful creature was standing right in front of him, with straightened shoulders and clothes completely soaked with rain, wet wool clutching to every single muscle covering these one hundred and eighty eight centimetres of pure beauty? Was it even possible to resist this temptation and walk away without even a single touch? Well, most of the people probably could do so (and Frenchman was rather grateful for that), but for him it was too late to close his eyes and just forget what he saw. It was hie greatest weakness perhaps, but he wasn't able to care. Not when it came to desiring this particular man.

  
**63\. Mischievous**   
_Playful in a naughty or teasing way._

  
Suddenly, Demoman felt something... Strange. It was this primal, almost animal instinct alarming him, that someone's watching his every single step, but disturbed Scotsman couldn't see anybody. Of course it didn't mean he was safe - both enemy Spy and Sniper could easily observe him, without being seen. Unfortunately, one-eyed mercenary could do exactly nothing about the latter, since that smelling with urine and cheap tobacco bastard was probably somewhere out of his sight, so Cyclops' only option was to avoid open spaces and try to hide behind something, hoping that the assassin will reveal himself eventually. To be honest, grenadier was really fond of killing them, especially when he had a chance to walk on the lower railway and send them few projectiles square in the face – poor Aussies had no idea what hit them! But, as it was mentioned before, shooter wasn't the only possible enemy Highlander should be warned about. For all he knew, RED agent could be standing right behind him, waiting for the right moment to attack his unsuspecting victim. Bombardier turned around few times, hoping that maybe he'll be able to see _anything_ , but unfortunately he still wasn't able to spot anyone, potentially invisible prick included.  
And then, he really felt something. Not that foretelling tingling in the back of his scull, but very real and sensuous touch too light to even tickle, but still too distinct to be ignored. Smooth caress skittered his unshaved jaw, smearing few cold droplets on his sideburns, leaving him a bit flustered and shivering. Instinctively, Demoman tried to grab offender's hand, but without any success. The only thing he really achieved was quiet chuckle coming from somewhere near.  
"Ye bloody Spy!" he growled, now ensured that's enemy intelligencer he was dealing with.  
Before he came up with any real verbal threat, his assailant struck once again. This time sudden contact came from behind - one slender finger slipped between his pirate hat and the collar of his signature turtle-neck, grazing cold and damped nape hidden beneath the heavy fabric. Once again Scotsman didn't catch his invisible associate, but he heard few hurried steps, what mean that this devious bastard was closer than before.  
"Stop hidin!" It was obvious that infiltrator won't switch his watch off just because Cyclops demanded so, but it was always worth a try. "A knaw ye're here!"  
It seemed that Frenchman couldn't care less about what grenadier knew, because he grew even bolder and, instead of focusing his efforts in the upper body area, reached further to the south, slightly lifting the very edge of completely wet, dripping water kilt.  
"Oi!" Highlander grabbed the garment and pulled it down, vigorously trying to protect his modesty. "That was low."  
Before he had a chance to realise how bad was that pun, two surprisingly warm hands sneaked under protective plates around his waist and squeezed his hips. At this point one eyed mercenary's patience vanished completely, and this time he decided to use definitely brutal force - instead of just catching that scum, he tried to hit him with the barrel of his grenade launcher.  
"You gave me black eye once, and I think that's completely enough." Demo heard velvet‑like whisper next to his ear. "But I admit, it was my fault. It seems I learned nothing from the last time."  
"Dautie?" Scot looked around, hoping for his lover to reveal himself finally. "Why are ye hiding?"  
"Adventure." Spy offered rather laconic answer. "Danger. Excitement."  
"An anither black eye for molesting me?" Cyclops crossed his arms. "A haed nae idea ye're intae that kind of things."  
This time agent deprived him of any verbal communication and instead smacked lightly his butt, making proud son of Ullapool squeak like a surprised schoolgirl. Highlander would like to shot him very indignant glare, but unfortunately he still had no idea where his significant other could be. Having no better options in the department of scolding his misbehaving lover, grenadier simply gave up and decided he can go back to work as well. He hoped that agent will lost his enthusiasm eventually and leave him alone, but how wrong he was - before bombardier managed to jump onto the railway running below the main bridge, still invisible infiltrator pinched his buttock, giggling maniacally.  
"Bloody Spy!" screamed DeGroot, landing heavily on his feet.  
"At your service." He heard his lover's voice from above.  
Demoman chuckled to himself and walked to the sewers under enemy base. One day this cheeky bastard will get hem both into _really_ big trouble, that was for sure, but that would be really sweet way to die. Agent was unbelievably spoiled and he never cared enough to hide it, so if he was in need of attention from his partner, he was ready to do literally everything to get it. What, in this particular situation, could mean only one thing - the mission could jog off. At last for some time. The only thing which could make that masked clotheshorse leave Scotsman alone, was only indolence of his very own team and the perspective of losing the round. In any other case Highlander was doomed.

  
**40\. Flirty**   
_Making playfully romantic or sexual overtures._

  
To be honest, Grenadier hoped that Spy won't lower himself to following him down into the severs and will find something more productive to do (like sapping turrets or backstabbing Snipers for example), but once again agent proved himself to be far more stubborn and persistent than anyone would even imagine. Most of the population saw him as a cool, indifferent and constantly walking on the edge of getting annoyed man, but he had his other, far more emotional side. At times he could be really kind and even a bit dorky, not to mention the affection he had reserved for his only child. But there was one issue infiltrator treated almost deadly serious and was ready to make indescribable sacrifices to attend to it with all care – namely romance. It as hard to say what fuelled his overgrown ego (French legacy, reputation of a charming gentleman or simply his character), nevertheless the effect was the same – once he decided to engage himself in more or less amorous activities, there was no way to change his mind. This single-minded approach could be really dangerous at times, but Highlander had no heart to stop him. In fact, bombardier was far too fond of being treated like another World's Wonder occasionally, and he was also never good at saying “no” to any form of pleasure.  
All that said, Demoman had to admit that this time infiltrator's timing was truly awful. BLU's situation was absolutely disastrous, to put it lightly, and with their intelligencer focused on grenadier's posterior instead on mission's objectives there was only a small chance to improve their team's situations. These turrets had to be taken down immediately, but unfortunately one Black Scottish Cyclops was not enough to deal with them – he needed some assistance, but his usual partner was... Uncooperative, at last in the department of doing actual work.  
If only master of disguise was somewhere else, doing something equally important as getting that bloody suitcase, maybe grenadier wouldn't be as tired as he was. But Frenchman was right beside him, gently nibbling on one-eyed mercenary's earlobe with the very tips of his a bit too sharp teeth.  
“Dautie?” Highlander sighed, biting on the inside of his cheek.  
“Yes, _mon amour_?”  
“Mebbe ye'd like tae help me?”  
“I'm not in the mood.” Spy smiled deviously, nuzzling his temple.  
“A knaw in whit kind of mood ye're.” Bombardier chuckled, trying not to enjoy this. At last not too much.  
“I was hoping that I made my intentions ve **rrr** y clea **rrr**.” Agent perfectly knew, that this wonderfully purring-like manner of speaking 'r' was the easiest way of reducing all Demoman's scruples to zero. “Communication is the most important thing in the relationship.”  
“Even nou!?” asked Scot, trying to ignore these smart fingers finding their way under his vest. He was already losing this battle, but he never was good at giving up without a proper fight.  
“Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,” murmured Frenchman, leaning against him heavily, his breath getting heavier with every word, “nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.”  
Well, that was some king of argument. Maybe not the best or the most reasonable, but – as it was mentioned before – Highlander never mastered the art of denying himself anything. And, to be honest, he never really tried to learn how to do it. After a short while of considering all pros and cons, Cyclops decided that there will be some other time to train his self-control and finally succumbed to the temptation.  
Intelligencer murmured something, what sounded like an approval form his part and kissed him slowly, carefully pressing his lips against grenadier's. There was something almost teasing in a way he was dosing the pressure and intensity of this endearment, stopping Highlander from deepening it too soon. Spy was like a true connoisseur, unhurriedly dwelling in every single sensation he could get. Kisses like that were always a promise of something bigger and more consuming than a quick make-out session in the middle of the mission – they were sweet overture for one of the greatest operas known to the mankind with a passionate duet written just for the two of them. Even if decorations and _libretto_ could change, Demo already knew the music by heart and couldn't wait for the beginning of the first act.  
“YOU MAGGOTS!”  
Bombardier almost heard the cacophony of dropped instruments and orchestra running in hurry and frowned. Only one person could scream like that without any real reason and opening an eye for seeing furious Doe seemed to be only a waste of time. Still, Scotsman broke the kiss and looked at their highly unwanted witness with a disdain.  
“Whit?” he asked, not making even a tiniest attempt at hiding his displease.  
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!”  
“Using our time for something more sensible than chasing these documents?” Agent rose one eyebrow, but refused to detach himself from Cyclops.  
“YOU'RE RUTTING HERE LIKE PIGS WHEN YOUR BRAVE TEAM-MATES...”  
“Oh, for God's sake.” Masked mercenary sighed, pulled out his gun and shot their self‑proclaimed leader in the head.  
Before grenadier had a chance to say anything, RED agent's body fell on the ground with a characteristic thud, leaving him speechless for a moment. To be perfectly honest, it wasn't what Highlander expected to see, therefore he let himself be at last a bit surprised.  
“Hou daed ye knaw it was a Spy?” he asked with astonishment in his voice.  
“I didn't.” Spy shrugged and turned back towards him. “Now, where were we?”

  
**28\. Disappointed**   
_Thwarted in hope, desire or expectation._

  
Before they had a chance to pick up on what they started, once again someone interrupted them. This time it was no one else but Pyro from their own team, what unfortunately complicated the situation - communicating with these lovely fireflies demanded not only concentration, but also a great dose of imagination. Thankfully, they had both: Agent was able to focus his attention under any given circumstances and Demoman's mind was one of the most vivid in the whole Double Cross. With their powers combined, they were able to talk with the arsonist and understand him, but still the presence of both of them was required.  
"Hudda-hudda!" Exclaimed fire-starter, walking towards them in hurry, the lenses of his mask decorated with multiple raindrops. "Hudda-hu!"  
"They did... what?" Intelligencer pulled his hands from under Scotsman's vest and automatically reached for his cigarettes.  
"REDs stealt oor Intel?!" Cyclops shook his head in disbelief. "Hou?!"  
"Hudda-hudda-hudda..." Pyro shrugged and then crossed his arms. The inhabitant of asbestos suit also seemed to be greatly displeased with their team's doing, but their way of showing it was far less eloquent than his companion's.  
Sometimes Frenchman had enough of literally everything, his dear colleagues included. Usually they managed to act like almost normal and adult people, sometimes they were even reasonable, but today the behaved like a bunch of feverish children on sugar rush who were promised to receive a puppy. In other words, they seemed to be completely useless losers who weren't able to do _anything_ constructive and/or useful, like protecting that bloody suitcase for example. Probably on any other day masked mercenary wouldn't be so annoyed, but unfortunately for his crew, he had something else in mind, namely his finally pliant lover and various more or less intimate activities they could perform together and, what seemed the most important part, alone. But no, his wonderful team simply had to be so pathetic that his assist was simply demanded.  
After muttering few colourful invectives addressed to his friends and acquaintances, Spy abandoned his warm, oh so very warm grenadier and reached for his sapping device, fighting with his urges. As much as he liked to prove everyone he was the best professional in this forgotten by God and civilisation base, he was also very unamused by very unpleasant lack of Highlander in his arms. The contrast between what he had to do and what he would like to do was literally maddening, especially since they worked together - these sentries demanded rather radical approach, so the infamous Dynamic Duo of Turret Destroyers had to enter the scene and save the day. _Again_.  
It wasn't like they had any real choice - now, when their own Intel was on the move, restoring lost points was the only possible and sensible solution. Even if their colleagues somehow manage to stop the thief and protect the case until it'll get back to the spawn point, RED's aggressive tactics demanded equally hostile answer.  
"Whit a shame." Sighed Demoman, readjusting his vest. "It wis sae nice..."  
"I will make this up to you," whispered intelligencer. "I promise."

  
**51\. Impressed**   
_Deeply or markedly affected of influenced._

  
Scout always liked to watch his father at work, at last at these rare moment when this human chameleon could be spot by a boy running faster than a speeding bullet. Of course batter would never admit that, but still he was truly enthralled by elegance of Spy's manoeuvres and deadly efficiency of his attacks. Sometimes young Bostonian dared to dream about becoming as suave and cool like his dad, but deep in his heart he knew it was impossible - his loud and outgoing personality would never allow him to become quiet and cool like an intelligencer. But, on the other hand, it wasn't anything bad. He would be really useless decoy if he was perfectly composed and silent. So, since he couldn't be like his father, he did everything to be just like himself, what seemed to be far better idea.  
But that day he wasn't thinking about his life choices and character development, standing in the exit from the wooden shed on RED's yard near the Intel Room. He came here to finally get the case, but before spotter could give it a try, he had to patiently wait till these turrets will be destroyed, what once again lead to observing his parent. Agent alone was really entertaining view, but when he was working alongside their Demo... Well, things momentally get really interesting. It was simply unbelievable how good these two were able too cooperate - their personalities and lifestyles seemed to be as different as night and day, not to mention that their respective sets of skills had almost absolutely nothing in common. But, despite their differences, this union worked very well every time. While one was distracting both turrets and their constructors (usually it was Scotsman who played that part) the other one was busy with destroying/killing aforementioned obstacles. Picket really enjoyed watching them fighting together, not only because they were his fater and best pal. There was something really amazing in the way they were reading each other's moves, adjusting their tactics on spot and reacting on the other's doing. Maybe it was like that because both of them were true professionals. Maybe their relationship was the reason behind their so good collaboration. Hard to say. But, one way or another, they were almost invincible, at last in runner's eyes.  
But even these two had their better and worse days, and on a scale from 1 to 10, their today's performance deserved strong 12, maybe even 12,5. The Four Horsemen, Armageddon and Ragnarök combined wouldn't be as terrifying and destructive as that duet of resolved mercenaries. For some - completely unknown to Scout - reason this time they seemed to be determined to not only get this (surprisingly literally) bloody suitcase, but also to obliterate the whole enemy base. Although Frenchman looked a bit pissed (what probably meant that he was in fact furious, but as usual managed to contain his emotions or at last most of them) and there was some glint of berserk in Cyclops' only eye, their psychical condition not only had no negative influence on their actions, but seemed to motivate them even more. It was hard to guess, what exactly get on their tits this time, but batter couldn't care less. As long as they had a chance to get rid of these damned sentries, boy had no real reason to question his team-mates deeds.  
"Have ya seen that?!" Spotter turned towards Sniper, who silently aimed his Huntsman and shot approaching them RED Pyro.  
Assasin nodded slowly and smirked. There was always something slightly intimidating and dangerous in his smile, like he had something really nasty on his mind. And probably he had - for someone so quiet he could be really mean, especially towards his counterpart from the opposite team.  
"Oi saw that" shooter answered finally, reaching for anther arrow.  
"That was awesome!" Picket could hardly remain in place, hoping that he'll have a chance to get the documents really soon.  
"Yeah." Australian chuckled and patted his arm. "Nou's our move."  
Scout burst with laughter and run forward. Now, when their team-mates cleaned the Intel Room, grabbing that case was a piece of cake. Carrying it to their base was a whole different story, but batter never cared about it - maybe he wasn't that good at destroying turrets, but running from the danger was his speciality.  
"Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

  
**56\. Kinky**   
_Showing or appealing to bizarre or deviant tastes, especially of a sexual or erotic nature._

  
Spy was a great fan of _any_ kind of pleasure, but unlike many people he wasn't even a bit ashamed of it since there was absolutely nothing wrong in being human and agent would never let anyone to prove him otherwise. Good food and wine, comfortable beds, hot baths and of course sex were at the top of his personal favourites list, all at the first place. And making love with the man he adored with his all heart was one of the best things intelligencer could imagine. No matter what was that – a quickie in the heat of the mission, a filled with gasps and moans night in their shared bedroom or a slow Sunday spent in the sheets – it was always satisfying and sensuous. And as much as Frenchman liked their standard schemes, from time to time he liked to try something new or unusual to keep things fresh. Initially, he feared that Demolition expert will be too ashamed to try anything more frivolous, but in fact one-eyed mercenary was really eager to find out what will work for both of them. The man had his insecurities, that was for sure, but he also was a really curious and adventurous individual, so testing uncharted waters was nothing scary for him.  
Of course there were few things Scotsman refused to try or participate in. For example, covering his eyes with any kind of blindfold didn't suit him well – even if living in the world of darkness was his fate, the man was simply terrified of losing his eyesight and the very thought about this issue was upsetting him greatly. Playing with orgasm denial also wasn't the best option for them. _Primo_ , Spy simply loved to give his beautiful Cyclops everything the man needed, especially since there weren't many things the man dared to ask for himself. _Secundo_ , grenadier was still surprisingly young (when agent learned that his partner is only few years older than his son, he demanded to see a birth certificate) and had enough of stamina to remain energetic during even the longest intercourses. _Tertio_ , no matter how controlled intelligencer was during missions, in bedroom he was loosing his composure at some point, so it was hard for him to keep his face straight during any kind of games.  
After few experiments and adjustments, they agreed that they both liked certain things and couldn't care less if their tastes could be called “normal” or not. Apparently, for Highlander it was being tied up. The man simply liked to give his lover upper hand, give up all possible pretences, and stop worrying what he should and shouldn't do to prove his worth. And, as strange as it could be, he simply felt safe under Frenchman's control, free from all of his obligations and troubles – when wide, soft, velvet-lined belts of black leather were placed on his wrists and neck, there was absolutely nothing to be concerned about. Spy knew well how to make him forget about the orphanage, cold waters of lake in Ullapool, about Merasmus, Bombinomicon and all of bombardier's wrong choices and decisions. From time to time there was nothing better than letting someone other to take a lead and definitely there was nothing wrong about it. Perhaps many people would see it as a pathetic sign of weakness coming from a complete fool, but fortunately agent wasn't one of them – intelligencer was eager to accept everything what made his beloved one truly happy and relaxed, so he was perfectly OK with this too. Besides, infiltrator always liked to control things since he was very aware of his surroundings, so having Demoman in his absolute power was one of his greatest pleasures.  
In the field of unusual tastes in the bedroom, Frenchman's weapon of choice was feminine lingerie. Nothing too flashy, just a well adjusted panties, preferably with lace, and a pair of stockings. Once upon a time, when he was still working in secret service, he had to work undercover as a drag queen and from that time he liked to feel the smooth touch of nylon on his tights and calves. Initially, he thought such outfit wouldn't be appealing for Scot, but after few seconds of dreadful silence Cyclops exclaimed that Spy he had really nice legs and they looked simply gorgeous, wrapped in dark, slightly shining fabric. Agent was really touched by this pure, almost innocent adoration and was eager to please his _amour_ with the view he was so fond of. Besides, there was something simply dirty, almost perverted in making love to another man while wearing something so pretty and delicate. Grenadier was taller than him and more muscular too, and if they even engaged in hand-to-hand combat, one-eyed soldier of fortune would win with him without breaking a sweat. But there they were – Highlander on his back with tights spread wide and intelligencer between them, garter belt hugging his buttocks and fishnet stockings on his legs. Maybe it wasn't the most average way of relieving stress and showing affection, but it was good for them, so both mercenaries never dared to question this setting. After all, it was _their_ private business and no one should feel allowed to say a word about it.

  
**31\. Ecstatic**   
_In a trance-like state of great rapture or delight._

  
The air was getting warmer and thicker, clinging to their damp with perspiration skin, pressing them onto the already wrinkled sheets. The sweat on Demolition expert's temple seemed to be almost heavy, making his head fall on the pillow and roll onto the side. With slightly open mouth he prayed for air, but his pleading was coming out in form of gasps and moans instead of real words. Perhaps that was the reason why his desperate begging met no real answer, at last not from any divine or supernatural power – the Spy on the other hand was listening to him closely, exchanging every sound coming from Scotsman's throat for warm kisses and shallow bites on his dark collarbone. Or maybe Cyclops' song was in fact appreciation for this almost divine pleasure? Perhaps it was both, since it was hard to tell any difference when they were united like this, erasing every border and edge separating their bodies.  
It was so good to feel agent's weight atop of him. Of course Intelligencer was supporting himself somehow, but still some part of his mass was resting on grenadier's chest. It was too delicate to really make breathing hard in any way, but gave just enough of pressure to make all of this _real_ , to ensure almost drowning in delirium Highlander that this night was tangible, his beloved one truly existed and everything he never dared to achieve is in fact _his_. Maybe they should express such things with words, but bombardier preferred doing it this way, even if he had no idea, why. And, to be perfectly honest, he didn't care at the moment. It wasn't like this issue was unworthy of his full attention, but Demoman was just a human, and not a single human being was able to think about too many things, when someone was slowly thrusting between their legs.  
Frenchman always was slow at the beginning, like it was some kind of pleasure for him. With unhurried but thorough and deep pushes he was making poor Scotsman dance at the edge of madness and yet intelligencer never let him to go any further. On one hand, one-eyed mercenary loved these sweet but also agonizing preparations, but on the other, they were waking desperate need for something more – more touches, more kisses and more of his soul-mate both above and inside of him.  
But pleasures of flesh never were the only part of their feast. Even if cruel fate took one of his eyes, Cyclops managed to save the other from any harm and was trying to use it properly, despite his heavy lids trying to block his vision. But the view he could enjoy was worth all the effort. Spy always tried to present himself as the ultimate embodiment of elegance and grace, and for most of the time that tactic was working very well, but at times like this, when he was buried deep in his lover, agent was losing hi refinement completely. His hair was ruffled, thin strands was falling on his heated forehead, usually cold eyes were filled with delight and raw desire, the horizontal scar hugging his neck was weaving, constantly bothered with his moving Adam's apple, and his smile... If there was any materiel form of lust in this world, it was probably infiltrator's smile. Wild, primal, slightly shining with scattered edge of chipped tooth – it was simply everything Highlander could ask for. End everything he needed.

  
**1\. Accomplished**   
_Successfully completed; achieved._

  
In Spy's opinion such things as romantic love and intimacy it led to never were and never should be any form of contest or rivalry – he saw them as the most precious form of connection and bonding between two adult people, and it would be such a shame to desecrate them with any vile emotions like jealousy or pride. But still, he couldn't be helped, and every time he saw exhausted, barely breathing, deliciously ravished and completely boneless Demoman entangled in his sheets, he felt some kind of satisfaction, knowing that once again he did well. But it wasn't like their time together was only about his ego, no, nothing of that. Agent's one and only desire was to make his one-eyed lover as happy and satisfied as it was physically possible – he was perfectly aware, that the life of an misunderstood, marred “orphan” with the extremely difficult nature was more than harsh, so intelligencer tried to amend it with all his strength and patience. Of course, it wasn't like he could fix that unpredictable spitfire only with his touches and gestures, but sometimes they were the only language in which he could talk to that complicated man. Saying that Scot had trust issues would be an understatement of the month – it was really hard to get inside his head and thoughts with only words, but on the other hand, he's been reacting well to touches. In Frenchman's opinion it was completely naïve to think that actions couldn't be dishonest, but he never dared to say that aloud, as it would only made their already fragile communication even more hectic.  
But for now everything was fine – Cyclops was almost smiling, overpowered by the fading weaves of pleasure that left him relaxed and calm, and every drop of sweat on his warm body was a solid proof of infiltrator's genuine devotion. Spy smiled to himself and lowered himself to kiss grenadier's nape, still enjoying the last sparks tingling in his own nerves.  
“I love you,” he murmured against dark skin.  
The only answer he got was some unintelligible mutter what could be mutilated form of “Burn in hell” or “I love you too”, agent couldn't decide. Not that there were any significant difference between these two sentences – bombardier never had serious intentions of insulting him and his invectives usually were maybe a bit wicked, but still quite good equivalents of love confessions, and intelligencer was fine with it.  
“I'm glad that you liked it.” Master of disguise finally fell on the mattress and looked his lover into an eye. “Anything else you need?”  
“Ye.” Frenchman chuckled when strong, freed from bonds arm sneaked around his waist and scooped him closer to the Highlander, who was in fact barely conscious. “A need ye.”  
And _that_ was the most satisfying part of all of this.

  
**36\. Enthralled**   
_Filled with wonder and delight._

  
There was a serene beauty in silence of the dawn, when their bodies were slowly cooling off, thin layer of sweat slowly turning into a smell of their intimacy. Before Demoman met Spy, he thought that the most astonishing view in the whole world were flames and smoke of explosions, burning trees and holes ripped in the sole of the earth by his projectiles, but it changed. Now he was able to admire far more calm landscapes – smooth line of agent's spine glistening in the moonlight like a valley between mountains of wrinkled sheets and pillows, the sharp slopes of his shoulder blades slowly waving with every calm breath and the astonishing basin of his lover back, decorated with two shallow dimples filled with a soft shadow. With a heavy from exhaustion hand Scotsman reached over his lover's shoulders, drawing a short line across his naked nape, dwelling in the subtle touch of velvet-like short hair.  
“It tickles,” murmured Intelligencer, but hadn't moved away, letting his soul-mate to do whatever he wanted.  
Scotsman smiled to himself, and propped himself on his elbows, his lips ghosting over bothered with bites skin at the juncture of Frenchman's neck and shoulder, finally placing a soft kiss there. He hated that next night all of these marks will disappear thanks to the respawn system and Quick-Fix, so he wanted to dwell in their beauty as long as it was possible. It was fascinating, how eager intelligencer was to have his sacred and porcelain-white skin defiled with these rough seals of affection, and how much he liked, when Cyclops was caressing them with his breath and lips. And, because grenadier really liked to spoil him as much as it was only possible, he was covering his lover with these unrefined prints in shape of his teeth and nails every time they made love to each other.  
With a soft sigh, bombardier nuzzled his beloved one's temple, inhaling the sweet scent of his exhaustion and effort. Outside their bedroom, Spy never allowed himself to show how tired and sleepy he was, but here, in one-eyed mercenary's arms he let himself be just an average human being, whose needs were clearly visible. Or maybe it was Highlander who finally learned how to read subtle signs written off of his lover's silhouette? Well, one way or another, he was able to see his agent's true face and that was the only thing that really mattered.  
“Tavish...” The corners of agent's lips twitched, forming a drowsy smile.  
“Aye, aye.” Demo chuckled to himself, kissing his adorned with five o'clock shadow. “Guid night, dautie.”


	13. Chapter 13

**71\. Peaceful**   
_Undisturbed by strife, turmoil, or disagreement; tranquil._

  
One of the most difficult things for Spy was to make Scotsman be able to do... Nothing. Man's family members were true hard-workers every single one of them (except some cousin Donald, but that's irrelevant) and, unfortunately, that rule applied to Tavish too. Even if he allowed himself to have only three jobs at time, he still seemed unable to remain unoccupied. Meddling with wires in his workshop, reading chemistry books, drawing more or less crazy prototypes, experimenting and, when everything else failed and his poor mind called for some break from unwanted thoughts and memories, drinking – there were only few, the total number of Cyclops' pastimes remained unknown. Agent could accept this situation to some degree, but from time to time he was loosing his almost legendary patience. Of course watching his partner at work was really entertaining, but sometimes all intelligencer wanted was a slow afternoon spent on the couch in the recreation room or in bed. Alas, for a long time the only way to achieve this, was draining all Scotsman's energy to make him simply exhausted and unable to take a part in any other activities than just breathing. Naturally Frenchman was wearing him (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) with a delight but occasionally even he was to tired to give this protocol a green light.  
Thankfully, after some time spent together, masked mercenary realised that sometimes giving up really is the best option and there was no point in pushing his grenadier to do certain things, and Highlander learnt how to unwind and just enjoy the company of his team-mates and beloved one. Thanks to that, they were finally able to spend a truly lazy afternoon and don't care about _anything_ , just like today for example. The rest of the crew also decided to use unusually calm Friday to restore their energy and do something not particularly useful for a change. Even Medic gave up the solitude of his infirmary – or, like Scout preferred to call it, _dungeon_ – and once again found out that still alive people could be as amusing as the dead ones. It wasn't like their doctor was unsociable, but from time to time he was able to forget that his co-workers were not only potential patients, but also truly charming companions.  
Master of disguise sighed and smiled lightly, resting his head on Demoman's shoulder. For a long while he observed bright, window-shaped spots of warm, almost orange light on the ceiling, watching the subtle change of colour. The sun was already slowly hiding behind the horizon, but none of them rally cared about passing time. After days of fighting, bleeding, shooting, screaming and dying they simply deserved some peace. Or at last the very good imitation of it. Yes, these calm hours were nothing more than a mere illusion, al of them knew that well, but they were also enough to make them believe there was something more than just this base, this pointless struggle between RED and BLU and the life with names they couldn't change. Some of them had places to come back to, some didn't. Someone waited for few of them, the rest was completely alone in this world. But, despite their backgrounds and history, the only thing they all had, the only thing that was _real_ , were afternoons like that and warm sun slowly coming through the dirty, stained glass.  
Even if it was just a dream.

  
**44\. Gloomy**   
_Marked by hopelessness; pessimistic._

  
BLU's favourite Scotsman could be not the best person in the World - or at last that's what he though about himself - but still he was able to care about his friends, especially Scout and Soldier. Every time one of his best pals was feeling under the weather, Cyclops was immediately at their side, ready to lift their spirits and help them to solve their problems, no matter how complicated they could be. Well, maybe he wasn't the best adviser in such fields as love life or professional career, but still he was eager to relieve his dear companions. That's why when Doe come back from home to Double Cross with his face twisted with pain, grenadier grabbed a bottle of good old Scrumpy and approached him with a smile on his face.  
"Jane, ye bastard!" Highlander sat beside him, placing beverage on the table. "Hou are ye?"  
Well, sinister silence wasn't something he was expecting, to be honest. Their self-proclaimed leader never was an open person, that's for sure, but he trusted his one‑eyed companion enough to tell him about his worries. At last that's how things were between them before they... Before Tavish betrayed him.  
"A... A think ye'd like tae be alone, aye?" Demoman stood up, straightening his kilt.  
"NO." Soldier looked at him, his eyes numb and tired. "I JUST... DON'T THINK YOU WANT TO LISTEN ABOUT MY PROBLEMS."  
"Daena be silly." Scotsman plopped on the couch, feeling a bit relieved. "A'm yer friend, A'll listen awthing ye wan tae say."  
"REALLY?"  
"Really."  
"MERASMUS KICKED ME OUT OF HIS HOUSE." Jane sighed and reached for the glasses.  
Honestly, Cyclops would be perfectly happy if he never heard that name again, but since this devil became an important part of his best friend's life, he had no other choice. Besides, if this bastard dared to hurt Doe, bombardier would be more than happy to kick his magical ass into the next century for every tear his pal shed because of him.  
"He daed whit?!"  
"AND I DON'T KNOW WHY." Combatant sighed, pouring the beverage into the two glasses. "I WAS JUST RUMMAGING THROUGH HIS DRAWERS, LOOKING FOR HIS VALLET, AND SUDDENLY HE WAS AT MY THROAT, SCREAMING AND SPITTING LIKE A WET CAT."  
"Daed he said onything?" Demo frowned.  
"HE DID BUT I DIDN'T GET IT." Soldier sighed. "THE LAST THING I REMEMBER WAS HIM KICKING ME THROUGH THE DOOR, SCREAMING NOT TO COME BACK UNTIL HE SAYS SO."  
"That simply canna be!" Scot stood up rapidly, clenching his fist. "Juist give me his address, I will teach 'im!"  
Perhaps that wasn't the best idea in the world, but the only one he came up with. Something had to be done, and if Jane was too devastated by this domestic quarrel, it was _his_ job to deal with this damned wizard.

  
**45\. Good**   
_Being positive or desirable in nature; not bad or poor._

  
"... So, if I got yu right, you're going to visit Merasmus and beat him into the bleeding pulp for splitting up with Soldier." Spy arched an eyebrow, trying not to understand what was going on here.  
"Aye." Cyclops jumped into his Jeep, producing keys from the sporran.  
"And it has nothing to do with your desire to kill him for stealing his eye?"  
"Whit?" Grenadier froze for a moment, frowning. "Of course, nae!"  
"... So you forgave him?"  
"Nae." Highlander shrugged, starting the engine. "But it's nae aboot me. Jane's in pain an A'm 'is friend. It's me job tae help him, ya knaw?"  
Agent smiled to himself, watching his beloved one's face. Many people saw bombardier as nothing more than a drunken beast, but how could it be true? How someone, who was able to forget about his own hate could be called an uncivilised brute? Despite all of his loathing towards Merasmus, Demoman really had no intention of getting even with him, no - his only desire was to solve his pal's problem and make Doe happy once again. It was truly touching to see him like this. With every day intelligencer was discovering more and more wonderful things about his lover, learning about his flaws and virtues more than he could even imagine. And being able to admire this man in his best was a true prize itself.  
"I'm coming with you." Frenchan smiled, and sat on passenger's seat.  
"A winna kill 'im," muttered one-eyed mercenary.  
"I know." Infiltrator chuckled, amused with his lover's tone. "But it would be better if I was with you in case slicing throat of this bastard would be necessary."  
Scotsman smiled to him, his face almost glowing with it's own light. Spy sighed silently, once again realizing that loving this man was one of the best things which could happen to him.

  
**27\. Devious**   
_Not straightforward; shifty._

  
Actually, agent had no personal opinion about wizards. He never met one personally and judging people because of what they preferred to wear made him overlook his precious Demoman for months, so now he was trying to avoid such mistake. And despite the amount of time spend with a man who owned a cursed sword and his eyeball was haunted by a some kind of evil spirit living in a book, intelligencer's knowledge about magic remained really limited. He did not like it and that was all. Such attitude was highly reasonable, mostly because their more or less eccentric Halloween adventures (he hated that time of the year with all of his wretched and vicious heart), but it wasn't, helping him in his current situation. Of course he believed that Scots wasn't going to kill this magician, but infiltrator somehow doubted that he'll witness a peaceful and perfectly civilised discussion – Cyclops' temper was almost legendary after all. Besides, Frenchman had a feeling that Merasmus himself wasn't a perfectly composed fellow, what was making the situation strangely complicated and possible dangerous for all three of them.  
“How do you think, what should we expect?” asked Spy, studying rather impressive gate leading to the castle.  
“A daena knaw.” Grenadier shrugged, pushing doorbell's button only to discover it wasn't working. “Strange things, hauntit books an a lot of dust A guess.”  
“That's not very helping,” sighed agent, producing from his pocket a small wallet with a set of lock picks. “Let me take care of that.”  
“Dae ye really think that breakin in is a guid idea?”  
“Better than standing here like two morons and waiting for him to notice us.”  
After few seconds of struggling with rusty lock, they could finally enter grounds around Merasmus' house only to discover a real horde of presumably rabid raccoons and few broken fridges filled with heavily outdated daily products. None of them was expecting such disastrous and disgusting view, but, on the other hand, this mess looked more like Soldier's doing, so they chose to ignore it, at last for the time being.  
“Honestly?!” Infiltrator kicked one too curious animal which was trying to have an intercourse with his polished shoe. “I'm not surprised he threw him out.”  
“Well A'm nae tidy meself.” Highlander shot him questioning glare.  
“Let me make myself clear.” Master of disguise straightened one finger to punctuate his next sentence. “There's a huge difference between dirty clothes on the floor and this.”  
“Point takken.”  
Spy experienced some kind of déjà vu when they finally knocked on castle's door, because once again they met no answer from the host. Of course mercenaries waited for a few minutes (the magician was quite old after all, so getting to the door could take him some time), but that was absolute limit of their already shortened supplies of patience.  
“Let's see if he's home.” Sighed agent, feeling that coming here wasn't his brightest idea. “Give me a leg up.”  
“Ye can open these too?” Asked grenadier, hunching his back.  
“ _Non_.” infiltrator flicked his cigarette and stretched his shoulders. “But a brick can.”  
Getting inside was surprisingly easy, to be honest. Actually, Frenchman expected some mysterious magical signs, protecting the household from the unwanted guest and trespassers, but they encountered nothing like that. And, as it soon transpired, there was no need for such security measures – before they had a chance to decide, which way should be going, above their heads whizzed some strange creature, looking like an abandoned child of a huge bat and museum of spider webs.  
“Stop!” They heard a screeching voice of someone approaching really fast. “Merasmus commands you to stop right now! You stupid...” Wizard froze in place, almost tripping over his covered with unidentified green goo robes. “What in the name of ancients Sumerians you two are doing here?”

  
**84\. Sad**   
_Affected or characterised by sorrow or unhappiness._

  
“What happened here?” Spy jumped to the side just in time to avoid collision with another rushing spirit. “What is this madness?”  
“The very reason why I forbade this useless mortal Jane come back here for some time,” barked Merasmus, trying to catch small gnome-like creature crawling up his leg. “But still I have no idea, why _you_ are here.”  
“We thocht ye kicked 'im oot acause ye... Split up.” Demoman looked a bit ashamed and confused.  
“Of course we didn't...” Wizard wagged his hand, but be bit on his own tongue in the middle of the sentence. “We're _not_ a couple!” He blushed so intensively, that even his ears started to change their colour into beautiful shade of crimson. “Great and powerful Merasmus is above such trivialities like love and other pathetic emotions you mortal fools adore so much!”  
“If you say so.” Agent shrugged. “Still, we want to know why our... Friend is so miserable.”  
“... Oh. I see.” Magician calmed down a bit. “Well, my completely deranged room-mate developed rather troublesome habit of rummaging through my personal things. I have no idea why he founds taking my heart medication or drinking experimental potions so amusing, but I can't force him to stop...”  
“We know that much.” Infiltrator rolled his eyes. “But it still doesn't explain...”  
"Don't interrupt me you petty mortal!" Host clenched his fists and stamped like over‑dramatic five-year old. If he was any less covered with ectoplasm, he would be almost adorable, at last in mercenaries' opinion. "Just let me finish! That utter moron you befriended accidentally broke my ancient seal of Babylonians protecting this realm from spirits and demons from other dimension. And as much as I'd like to see him bear consequences of his doing, his presence would be highly distracting in this particular situation, so he had to go."  
"... Sae ye want tae tell us that ye sent him off sae he daena get hurt?" Cyclops arched his eyebrow and cocked his head, watching Merasmus with genuine curiosity.  
"What? No!" Magician turned his back on them, hiding his face, but his protruding ears changed their colour into poppy red anyway. "I... I didn't want him to break anything else! Besides, he can't force even one raccoon to be obedient, so I can't see him dealing with ancient creatures of nature unknown to such petty mortal like Jane."  
"So you decided to catch every single one of these devils all by yourself." Intelligencer smiled widely, like usual when someone in his company was failing terribly due to their own stupidity. "Sounds _fantastique_."  
Grenadier had to admit he remembered Merasmus... Different. In his memories he was shifty, powerful and almost omnipotent mage who stole his eye, turned it into almost invincible weapon and turned his life into nightmare. For years Highlander was so terrified by silent voice of Bombinomicon echoing in his slowly falling apart mind, and the mere thought about this dark, eerie and dusty castle was waking him shiver. But what he saw now, was stubborn, tired old man who was too proud to admit he cared about his room-mate/partner so much, he sent him away from the chaos he caused. As strange as it was, Demoman felt some form of sympathy towards this exhausted and fed up with everything bastard.  
"So, if you two finally satisfied your curiosity, I want you both to leave my castle and let me take care of this mess."  
"Mebbe..." Scotsman really hated himself for being sorry for this bastard, but could help it. "Mebbe we can help ye?"  
Merasmus looked at them from above his shoulder, his face still slightly blushed and covered with slightly glowing goo dripping down his cheeks. Before he even spoke, Cyclops knew his answer - no matter how much drained and desperate he was, he just had to save his dignity. He could lost everything, his strength, power and reputation, but he could never give up his precious pride.  
"No." Magician's voice was far less vicious than few minutes before. "Just go. And keep him away from here."  
"But..."  
"We"ll see ourselves out." Frenchman grabbed his lover's arm and squeezed it slightly. "Good hunting."  
They leaved the castle in silence, trying to ignore screams and unsettling noises resonating through the corridors. It was neither pleasant nor easy for them - even if this particular wizard caused them many problems in the past, it was hard to remain indifferent to his excruciating struggle. They thought about themselves as merciless and harsh mercenaries, but their hearts were far too soft to ignore someone's pain. Perhaps being cold stones would make their life much easier, but... But they would lost the rest of their humanity, so it wasn't worth it.  
"A wish we cauld dae something muir." Grenadier scratched his nape, distantly watching brawling raccoons.  
"Listen, _mon amour_ , I'll do everything for you, I'll steal the Moon and stars, I will even deal with spirits from another dimensions if you really want me to..." Spy pinched the base of his nose, like usual when he tried to remain sane in absolutely surrealistic situation. "... But I would be grateful if you didn't try me on that, by the way. But still, I can't imagine what exactly should be done in this particular situation."  
"That's the problem. A hiv nae idea aither."

  
**69\. Numb**   
_Emotionally unresponsive; indifferent._

  
They drove back to the Double Cross in silence, hoping they will manage get there before the beginning of the mission. As much as they hated that damned place, they still were paid for being there and getting that suspicious suitcase, so there was no real reason to be late.  
Somehow seeing his nemesis and arch-enemy in this pitiful state of complete infirmity made Demoman feel strange, like some huge part of his life changed it's meaning. Of course his pain and bad memories were still real, but now, when he knew that this wizard wasn't dangerous or powerful at all, his influence on Scotsman's life seemed to be far less important. Besides... Oh, the Hell, the man completely lost it. When left alone, he barely managed to deal with things far less dangerous than Monoculus and seemed to be completely helpless.  
"Oh thank God, you're back." Scout stormed out of the main building and rushed to them, forcing Cyclops to stomp on the brakes with all of his force. "He doesn't listen to me!"  
"Who?" Agent rolled his eyes and unbuckled the belt. "What is going on?"  
"Soldier." Runner wheezed out, shifting on his feet nervously. "He... Well, better see yourselves."  
Dynamic Duo followed him back into base, through smelling with bleach corridors and finally to the locker room, where the rest of the team was preparing for the next battle. Well, in theory that was what they should be doing. In practice things looked a bit... Differently. For example, everyone – excluding Doe – was standing in the circle around the bench, their faces marked with worry and anxiety, what wasn't an usual view here.  
"Jane?" asked grenadier, feeling that something was really wrong here.  
His friend didn't answer him. He was just sitting in silence, his arms lying limply upon his lap and face hidden in the shadow cast by his a bit too big helmet. His shoes were unlaced, jacked completely askew and wrinkled, belt with grenades was lying abandoned in the corner. The psychical condition of their leader newer was questioned, mostly because it was obvious that the man lost his mind even before joining the BLU, but his usual state of madness was completely different than... This. The man was the very embodiment of Proud Patriotic American and the only time he dared to show his weakness was where Medic asked him to cough during monthly check-ups, otherwise, Solly was always tensed and ready for some action. That's why this view was so strange and devastating for all of the team.  
"Janey?" Highlander sat beside him, trying to look under the rim of the headgear. "Janey? Dae ye hear me?"  
Once again his words flew into a void and met no answer, to bombardier's further terror. Whatever happened to his dear friend, was absolutely wrong and something simply had to be done. Demo hated to feel so helpless, but this time he had at last slightest idea what to do.  
"Janey..." Scotsman hugged combatant, letting his head fall upon his shoulder. "He loves ye. He juist have tae deal with some problem."  
"I miss him so much..." Veteran's voice was unusually calm and broken, like his throat wasn't able to scream anymore. "So much..."

  
**29\. Ditzy**   
_Eccentric or scatterbrained._

  
My Dearest Friend,

I know you hate when I write letters instead of visiting you, but unfortunately we can't leave the base this weekend. Not because we are not allowed - I'd like to see anyone who would be do brave to stop Heavy from doing whatever he wants to do - but unfortunately another crazy invention of our dear Engineer chose freedom, and we have to find it before that damned thing will reach the nearest city. Honestly, I have no idea why he constructed self-propelled turret, but even I am able to see how bad this idea is. Besides, it would be probably wiser not to let this damned thing speak - you can't even imagine how annoying it was to constantly hear childlike voice calling "Are you still there?" in the distance. Anyway, we're trying to catch (and preferably also terminate) this thing, but unfortunately without any real success.  
Our son feels good. Thankfully, he managed to survive last month without any severe injuries and his worst wound was a paper cut he got reading a comic in a newspaper. In any other spheres of his life - same old. He really tries his best to grow up and become a man, but without any real success, might be added. Sometimes I have a strange feeling it's my fault that he's so terrible with girls, but we shouldn't lost hope yet. Maybe one day he'll ask some nice lady out and finally forget about the famous Miss Pauling (yes, he still has a crush on her).  
His love life aside, I gladly report he's as professional as usual and he's getting better in his job with every day. Of course he has his ups and downs (you should see him with this damned Boston Basher, true disaster) but one day he'll be the best Scout in the whole company, I assure you.  
Demoman sends you greetings and asks if you can send your apple pie recipe - we're going to visit his mother sometime soon and he wants to make one for her. I'll let you know about the results - I've never seen him cooking, so I have no idea what to expect. I know he used to prepare meals for her on daily basis, but still I'm not sure about the effects.  
I know how much you like romantic stories and gossips about my love life you somehow manage to squeeze out of our boy, but recently nothing interesting happened. We are happy and that's all, I assure you. Sometimes I can't believe we've became two cooing love-birds, but honestly, I don't want to change that. He's too good for me and the only thing I hope for is to make him as delighted as he deserves. In fact, I have something in mind - his birthday will be in two weeks and I want to make him some surprise. How do you think, what colour of stockings should I chose to match black stilettos with red soles?  
The rest of our team is as boring as usual. Heavy still hadn't asked our Sniper out, what shouldn't be a surprise at this point. Even if he's about as big as any given icebreaker, he's too indrawn to let our Aussie know about his feelings. Actually, I'm a bit tired by this situation, but I can't force two grown up people to find some duvet and act like grown-up people underneath it.  
Medic still has this strange crush on I-have-no-idea-who, but I think I'm close to discovering the truth. It's not like I'm going to do anything with this information, I just want to know. I must admit that having my own love life makes me somehow interested in other's personal business - maybe because I want them to be as happy as I am? Or maybe because this one-eyed madman made me more socialised than I should be? hard to tell. I think you can answer these questions for yourself.  
As I mentioned before, our Engineer lost his mind and works on things which are potentially dangerous not only for the enemies, but our team too. And himself, might be added. I wish he gave up these experiments and found some more decent pastime, but I don't think such miracle can happen. Thankfully, for most of the times the effect of his work are not only controllable, but also quite useful, so I suppose it's the price we have to pay for his genius.  
After few more or less interesting bumps on their road (horde of demons from other dimensions included, don't ask), Soldier and Merasmus are again happy together, presumably more than before their last crisis. You can believe me or not, but Solly with broken heart is far worse than with broken mind. It was really painful to watch him and I never suspected that it's possible to miss his usual screams. You should see Doe when this crazy magician called him to say he can come back home - golden retriever is a gloomy bastard compared to him back then. Now everything came back to normal, and we all are half-deaf again.  
Pyro hadn't managed to burn another piece of furniture, to relief the rest of the team. We're getting short of chairs and it would be really troublesome to lost another one. Engie and Tavish are rather crafty people and they even managed to make few stools for us, but they are no carpenters! Thankfully, we'll get another shipment next week, so the situation should improve.  
I can't say much about Sniper - it was you who taught me that "when you have nothing good to say, better say nothing". He still smells, does nothing useful or interesting (but he's a true master of taking naps under any given circumstances, might be added) and his only achievement in this month was tricking Scout onto consuming whole sandwich with Vegemite. I managed to take some photos during this wonderful event, don't worry. You will be delighted.  
And that would be all, my Dearest Friend. Our live here is rather eccentric and even chaotic sometimes, but for now it's bearable. I hope you have far less troubles than us. I sent you greeting from the bottom of my heart.

Take care of yourself,  
Your Favourite Secret Agent.

  
**76\. Predatory**   
_Living by preying on other organisms._

  
“ _Searching mode activated_.”  
“Shite!” Demoman ducked and covered head with his hands. “Where is it nou?!”  
“Dunno, man.” Whispered Scout from under the work bench. “Behind a wall?”  
Scotsman groaned and thumped his forehead against covered with sawdust and cobwebs floor in Engineer's workshop. There are only two kinds of people who could decide, that giving their turrets legs and some form of intelligence and free will was a good idea: a moron (and not a regular one, but someone who was specifically _designed_ to be a moron) and Dell Conagher. It wasn't because their personal Texan genius was stupid, no, nothing of that. He simply never cared if his inventions were safe or not. If he was able to do something, he momentally started to do it, no matter what possible consequences he could meet because of that. And, to be honest, they couldn't care less if he was the only victim of his rebellious “children” – he was an adult after all, and if he wanted to pluck up some spring form his artery, he had a right to do so. But from time to time his creations was causing mayhem in the whole base, troubling on only their maker, but also the rest of the team.  
“Hello?” Medic appeared in the doorway. “Is anyone there?”  
“Shit, doc, stop mimickin' them!” Boy looked at him with disgust. “It's creepy!”  
“Hiv ye seen it?” Cyclops got up and tried to clean the front of his protective vest.  
“ **Nein**.” Sawbones shook his head, sighing quietly. “But I've hard it nearby.”  
“Yeah, we too.” Kid nodded, reaching for his bat. “But that's not very helping.”  
Thankfully, Engie created only five of these monstrosities, and by now they managed to destroy four. The last one seemed to be not only the most intelligent from the series, but also somehow was learning how to avoid them, making catching it far too difficult than it was absolutely necessary.  
“ _Nap time_.”  
“Ye heard that?” Grenadier looked around, trying to guess where the sound was coming from.  
“Yes...” Surgeon frowned. “And I've heard it before. It had to see me vhen I vas coming here, so it has to be somewhere... There?” He guessed, showing in the general direction of everything what wasn't behind the workshop. “But it didn't shot me so it must be covered somehov...”  
“That's just great.” Spotter kicked nearest crate with supplies. “Where's Engie? He should be hunting this piece of shit, not us! And da... And Spy? I thought he was supposed to hack this little idiot.”  
“ _I'm different_ ,” something chirped quietly through rickety wall.  
“Oh, that's it.” Grenadier reloaded his launcher. “Aither we catch this wee bastard in neist five minutes or A'm blawin up awthing in radius o' five kilometers.”  
“... Oi'm alarmingly OK with that.” They heard Sniper's voice through their comm link.  
“Can you not?” Medic looked at them with his almost paternal discontent. “It's our vorkplace, after all. I kind of _like_ it here.”  
Their discussion was slowly turning into some fiery quarrel, when they heard slow, almost eerie scratching on the path leading to inventor's shed. All three mercenaries looked in that direction, trying to guess what could it be, and they froze in place, completely paralysed. Thad damned turret didn't waste it's time and instead of waiting for them to decide, what should be done, simply walked towards it's preys, silently blocking their only way out. Highlander momentally covered his friends (since he was the only one who wore any kind of protective armour) and launched few grenades in the direction of this walking menace, hoping that his projectiles will be enough to destroy that damned thing. Fortunately, he wasn't the only attacker – in the same time they heard the combined sound of minigun and rocket launcher, and despite all the smoke they were also able to see the bluish smudge left by Sniper's bullet. Scout and doctor also fired their shots, even if the syringes seemed to be somehow inadequate in this particular situation. But such overkill was highly reasonable under current conditions, so no one of them said a word about it.  
“ _I don't hate you_ ,” whispered almost completely destroyed turret, slowly turning off.  
“But I hate YOU!” Batter wrinkled his nose, looking at burned remnants of their ex‑nemesis.  
“My poor darlin'!” Suddenly, Engineer decided to show up, his face painted with worry. For a short while he watched scraps left by his newest invention's and then shot them all dreadful glare. “How... How could you do this to her?”  
“... Hold him.” Surgeon reloaded his Syringe Gun. “It's time to practice some medicine.”


	14. Chapter 14

**18\. Content**   
_Desiring no more than what one has; satisfied._

  
It was hard for her to be happy. Since the day her biological parents appeared at the threshold of the orphanage she lived in, there was no time to have desires and needs, only hard work and training. Day after day she was waking up before dawn and went to sleep just before midnight, filling every single hour with various activities, trying to be one of the best Demolition men not only in Scotland, but in the whole world. No matter what she had to sacrifice in the name of this goal, she was determined to reach it. She never really cared what others thought about her and how they looked at her. In their eyes she never was a girl or a woman, only a walking chaos in the body of the most vicious and stubborn woman they've ever met. And, in her opinion, it was good.  
When she met her future husband, she tried to kill him – not because he did anything to make her hate him, no, nothing of that. She just needed to know, which one of them two was better, and only a fair match in demolition could establish that. And, when she finally won, taking one of his eyes with her, he did something, what she never expected him to do – he followed her. Of course she was too proud and indrawn to ask why he did that, so she never learned the answer to this question, but it didn't matter. As long as they were together, blowing things up and causing mayhem wherever they went, words were highly useless. They respected and even loved each other, even if their way of showing it was rather unconventional. And, when the right time come, their little Tavish came to this world, small and fragile like all children. Traditionally, they left him behind, continuing on their work and waiting until they will heard about their son.  
Soon enough they were reunited with their offspring and were together again, but it wasn't the same, not anymore. The boy was really eager to learn and a rather smart lad, but his soul was almost completely wrecked with hate, like his only desire was to rip his own heart apart. But their nature stopped them from asking why it was and simply ignored the matter, hoping that the strict training and mastering the art of demolition will help the boy forget whatever happened before his parents returned. But they were wrong – years passed and their son was getting more and more furious, his movements and voice filled with loathing she never could understand.  
And then, suddenly, the man she loved died. In the fire of explosion she wasn't able to see, he was gone, leaving her behind, without all the answers she suddenly desperately needed. Now it was only her who could turn their child into the man, but, for some reason, all of her efforts seemed to be in vain. It wasn't like Tavish wasn't worthy of his family name, he was presumably the best in the whole clan, but still there was something... Wrong with him. Where should be a passion and love for his work, was dull ache of grievous soul, and she had no idea what to do about it. After whole life spent in silence, she knew no words to express her worry and concern, and, what was probably even worse, their every conversation was turning into quarrel at some point. The more she wanted to save her son, the more he was broken, and she had no idea, how to save him from falling apart.  
At the beginning, she hated that smelling with cologne Frenchie with all her soul. She was absolutely sure, nothing good could come out of such relationship and this smoothie was everything, what could make Tavish suffer even more. He wasn't the best company for stern and proud Demolition man. But oh how wrong she was. How very, very wrong. The man, who in her opinion was an embodiment of catastrophe, was in fact the best thing that could ever happen to her troubled child. Thanks to his wise words and small gestures, her boy was slowly blooming, showing that his heart wasn't broken, only neglected. Somehow Spy managed not only to calm him down, but also motivated him to be better – a better professional, better person, better son. Maybe it was a disgrace in the DeGroot clan eyes, to see their ancestor with another male, but now she couldn't care less. Her Tavish was finally happy, and as a mother, she could never ask for anything more.

  
**52\. Indescribable**   
_Impossible to describe._

  
Demoman heard in the past, that one of the best things in the world is waking up to a smell of a breakfast, so he treated his mother and previous lovers with mentioned experience on many occasions. Cooking was one of the skills he learned quite early, since one of the most popular punishment in orphanage he was living in, was helping in the kitchen with preparing meals and doing the dishes, and, as the time passed, he mastered his talent further. Of course his specialities were dishes with Scottish origin, but he never thought it was a bad thing – there was nothing better than warm, solid meal and most recipes from his homeland were just like that. It wasn't like he was able to cook absolutely everything (sweets and pies never were his cup of tea) but he was always eager to learn new things. Unfortunately, it was hard to show his talent in the Double Cross, mostly because the supplies were either canned or freeze-dried, but here, in his mother's house, he could finally feed his beloved one properly.  
The sunlight was slowly slipping through the curtains, painting floor and cupboards with it's yellowish strands adorned with light, lace-shaped shadows. There were few bread crumbs on the counter, next to the empty glass left there presumably by his mother, who never was able to sleep all night without a midnight snack. The other sign of night-time activity were few droplets of milk, but it was rather Spy's doing, since his stomach used to do strange things when filled only with mineral water. But for now Cyclops was the only person in the room, and he was surrounded by almost perfect silence. The only sounds he could hear here was a soft splash of fountain outside and silent chirping of birds, making him smile to himself. If this wasn't a perfect example of Arcadia, he had no idea what it was – for him this silent morning was simply idyllic.  
But, before he even managed to get to the work, his heart clenched, but it wasn't painful, mostly... Warm. The sudden strike of overwhelming emotions was a surprise for him, especially since nothing seemed to cause it, and for a longer while he wasn't able to do anything, breathing included. It was just too much to have _all_ of this, to see this morning, to live with these people, to be someone he never dreamed to be, to love and being loved in return. The dark times passed, pain and anger vanished, leaving in his heart enough of room for peace he has never known before. Perhaps it was too sweet to live in such dream, but somehow this was his reality. He had no idea what name it deserved, but it didn't matter.  
Nothing mattered. There was only this fulfilled wish.

  
**58\. Lethargic**   
_Deficient in alertness or activity._

  
Spy stretched his arms and sighed deeply, still covered with duvets and blankets. His first visit in this mansion convinced him Tavish knew what a luxury and comfort were, but this bed simply ceased all of agent's expectations. And he was a snob! A bourgeois! A man of the world! He slept in many places, posh hotels and residences included, on many various mattresses, but this particular piece of furniture was simply more than he could ask for. For the first time in his life intelligencer felt like his limbs were completely weightless and his spine was ready to write a love poem about this bed. It was a dream, a perfection, a masterpiece. And it was empty.  
Frenchman noticed it with some disdain, because, really? He came here to spend a weekend with his lover, not a cold sheets and pillow. But, as much as he wanted to find grenadier and show him, how much he disliked the fact of his disappearance, he was still too sleepy (and lazy) to really get up and do anything more constructive than a silent mumbling. He really hated to be abandoned like that, but it was so warm under all of the covers and he really didn't want to lost it so soon...  
And then he felt it. The most beautiful thing he could imagine in this hour and, to be honest, it washed his discontent away in a second.  
 _The smell of coffee._  
Before he had a chance to guess, what was going on, the door opened and Highlander entered the room with a breakfast tray in his hands. Spy rose his head, too see the contents of it, but once again his curiosity had to wait for a while, because some wonderful man decided to kiss him. And, to be honest, agent didn't mind.  
“Guid mornin, dautie.” Bombardier smiled to him, and sat on the bed. “Hungry?”  
“Yes,” he answered, letting his lover to help him sit up.  
“A hope sae.” Demolition expert chuckled, and placed the tray over his lap.  
Actually no, _that_ was the best thing he could imagine in this hour of the day. Was there anything better than fried eggs, bacon, white pudding, tottie scones and grilled tomatoes? Perhaps he was betraying his continental heritage with falling in love with this meal, but the hell with it – it was worthy even selling his soul.  
“ _Je t'aime_ ,” he confessed, leaning against Scotsman with a deep sigh.  
“I luve ye too.”

  
**34\. Energetic**   
_Possessing, exerting or displaying energy._

  
Cyclops tried really hard to learn how to play baseball, but the rules were far more complicated than he could ever imagine. Of course it wasn't the cricket-lever of absolute nonsense (grenadier always had to be sloshed to participate even on a single over, not to mention the whole innings or match), but still it seemed to be invented only to make people confused. Highlander tried really hard to learn at last the basics, so he could play with Scout, but after few futile and rather pathetic attempts they both decided it was a lost cause. Eventually, they came up with another idea for spending time together and invented rather easy game to play, which a really crazy mix of baseball and tennis. The pitch was a small yard in the back of the main building of the base, divided in two halves by a line drawn on the ground. With a modified grenade launcher bombardier shot balls into the general direction of runner's half, trying to make returning these projectiles as difficult as it was possible – for every ball which touched the ground, he was earning a point. Of course spotter was trying to do everything to send them on his opponent's half to score another points for himself. The games was rather enjoyable for both of them, and since it was good exercise at using his weapon, Scotsman had wasn't considering it as a “wasted time he could be using for finding another job”. Besides... Thanks to his lover and friend's efforts, it was easier for him to just relax and unwind, so he could finally really enjoy playing with his pal without that terrible feeling of guilt.  
“Take that!” He laughed, shooting another ball.  
“Oooh, scary!” Kid returned it with ease, showing his a bit overgrown incisors. “Gimme your worst, man!”  
One-eyed mercenary knew a challenge when he saw one. He was the best Demolition Man after all, and there was no option that some lanky kid will laugh at his technique of shooting projectiles, explosive or not. Besides, as much as he liked the brat, wiping of his arrogant smile was one of his greatest pleasures, so Cyclops decided to show him who's the boss here.  
And, despite all of his efforts, he failed. Yes, running towards that ball demanded picket to make few acrobatic tricks and almost break his leg, but still he managed to hit it with his bat. Grenadier watched it's flight with curiosity, trying to predict where it was going to land, and groaned, seeing where it was aiming. Unfortunately, there was no time to do anything – before they managed to even get scared, they heard loud sound of shattered glass and the sad remnants of the pane fell on the windowsill and the ground.  
“ _Merde_!” The loud scream coming form inside of the unlucky room confirmed their suspections. “Who... You _crétins_!”  
“Run, boyo.” Highlander looked at his younger friend. “Run as fast as ye can.”

  
**94\. Thankful**   
_Expressive of gratitude._

  
_Whoever listen, please, hear my voice._  
Demoman never was a truly religious man. Despite being risen by nuns in short period of times, he never was really able to find in his heart enough of love to give it to someone, who seemed to be deaf to his silent pleas. He never asked for much – only answers every abandoned child needed to know their place in this cruel, cold world. Maybe because he wasn't able to believe enough to attract any divine power's attention. Maybe he was born to be a sinner, therefore his prayers were destined to remain unnoticed. He never was able to guess, and at some point he was too tired and angry to care anymore. Of course he knew there were gods of various kinds, and most of them were ancient, forgotten and really pissed, but still he wasn't able to put his heart into any prayer he was silently whispering in the darkness, lying in the puddle of his own blood and tears.  
 _I know I'm nothing in you mighty eyes and my words are a mere whisper to your ears._  
But, on the other hand, he deeply believed in such thing as destiny, so it would be hard to call him a pure atheist. For many years he was perfectly sure he was born to become a monster, and transforming into one was something absolutely inevitable, like growing old or death itself. That one belief shaped not only his mind, but also a whole life, turning it into desperate struggle and endless Hell of self-pity. But now, when he finally understood that this statement was not only false, but was based on wrong assumptions, his certainty about fate faded. Now Scotsman wasn't so sure if there was a precisely constructed plan for anyone. Of course it was possible that after so many years of being completely miserable, some good and merciful god or other deity decided to make his life happier, but he couldn't remember anything what would make him worthy of such prize.  
 _But I have something to tell you, and I hope you will listen to me._  
Nevertheless, now his prayers weren't so desperate and sad as they used to be. They still weren't addressed to any particular divine power – they always were more like an open letter to anyone who was eager to listen – but now they weren't filled with painful pleas for anything. No, no they were simply... Grateful.  
 _Thank you for my mother, who gave me my life and taught me how to be a man._  
 _Thank you for all people, who tried to love me, even if I made it hard for them._  
 _Thank you for my friends, who brought a light to my life, hoping to show me a way out of the darkness I fell in._  
 _Thank you for my love, who grabbed my hand and led me to the sunlight, giving me hope for better days to come._  
 _Thank you for my life, because I learnt to like it, no matter how much pain I caused and how many scars I bear._  
 _And please, don't change it, because finally I found peace._  
 _Amen._


	15. Chapter 15

**68\. Nostalgic**   
_A bitter-sweet longing for things, persons, or situations of the past._

  
“Dad?”  
That one word, despite it's dictionary definition, for Spy always meant 'trouble'. A long of time ago, even before Scout was transferred to the Double Cross, they both established that it would be for the best if batter stopped himself from calling agent “father” on the battlefield and inside the base. Intelligencer never really trusted his counterpart form the opposite team to be at last civilised, and he was worried that this RED scoundrel would be able to use this information to his own advantage and hurt the boy. This said, it was simply safer to hide the fact they were related, but runner never seemed to fully grasp the concept, and broke aforementioned rule on many occasions, mostly to check if his parent was paying attention to him – if for some reason infiltrator wasn't at spotter's throat at the very sound of the word “dad”, it meant there was something wrong with the one and only master of disguise. On the other hand, picket broke this informal regulation every time he was sad or depressed and needed his father to comfort him.  
“What's happening?” asked Frenchman, folding the newspaper he had been reading.  
“I... I hafta talk to ya.” Boy took off his cap and started to play with it nervously, his fingers shaking slightly and feet fidgeting in place like he was about to run and end this discussion before it even started.  
“Sit down.” Spy patted the cushion beside him. “And tell me what's going on.”  
“I heard... Miss Pauling is comin' to visit us.”  
Oh, dear. Legendary Miss Pauling. The most beautiful, charming and sophisticated woman in the whole world. Of course the girl was wonderful, smart and competent, but Scout treated her more like a goddess than a human being, and as much flattering such behaviour could be, it was also insufferably annoying, not only to the object of boy's affection but also every one who was forced to hear about it. Thankfully, she showed up here at really rare occasions, but even these short visits were for the batter like a combination of Christmas and 14th of February.  
“Yes, she called Soldier this morning.” Intelligencer already felt incoming headache.  
“And... Well, I'd like to impress her somehow, ya know?” Runner finally sat down on the couch and sighed deeply. “To make her notice me. In good sense, I mean.”  
“And you're asking me for help?” Masked mercenary arched an eyebrow. “I was sure you want to do it by yourself, like a grown up man you are. At last that's what I remember from our last discussion about this topic.”  
“Yeah, I know what I said.” Spotter shot him vengeful glare. “But... I tried everything ad it doesn't work!”  
“How could it be?” He knew that teasing this poor creature was cruel, but it was hard to stop himself from doing that.  
“I have no idea, but that's how it is. She ignores me. Worse! She hates me.”  
Infiltrator looked at his son and his heart clenched a bit. Of course Scout was insufferable brat, but a major part of his behaviour was a consequence of Frenchman's shitty parenting. Maybe, if he wasn't so careless about his son's manners and didn't let him blend with other young Bostonians from their neighbourhood, now the boy wouldn't have so much trouble with seducing more sophisticated girl than those for which bucket of chicken was agreeable pick-up line. Yes, runner had fantastic childhood and dozens of more or less close friends, but now he had real difficulties with women who never belonged to the inner circle of his colleagues. Fortunately, it wasn't any kind of permanent damage and it could be repaired with some proper training and few tips.  
“Well, I think that there's still a chance.” Spy patted his offspring's shoulder.  
“So tell me, how did you picked up chicks?” Batter looked at him, desperate hope visible in his baby blue eyes.  
Agent cocked his head and rose one eyebrow, trying to remember how it was to be young and in love. It was... So long ago. And the times were different for sure. Back then girls were a bit different, but not in better or worse way. Just... Well, first of all, they were more feminine, but not because they wanted, they had no other real option. Wearing pants and participating in activities which were traditionally labelled as “manly” was a bit risky and demanded a lot of courage, so most of ladies simply lived their life, trying to accommodate to the schemes society designed for them. On the other hand, they had rather standard tastes – long walks, roses, compliments and chocolates were absolutely sufficient in the department of breaking the ice. Today's girls demanded more intellectual approach, finding discussion topics and presents which were somehow connected to their hobbies, which were far more various than these twenty or more years ago. But in the sweet time of his youth everything seemed to be more... Theatrical. Damsel's reputation was a precious treasure and everything what she did was somehow connected to it. Even if some young woman liked a certain boy, she had to keep some proper distance between the two of them – they weren't allowed to be alone for too long, they always needed their parent's approval, _et cetera_. Now girls couldn't care less about what people thought. If they wanted to do something, in most cases they simply did it, without asking anyone for a blessing.  
“Well... I think my ways of wooing women won't work on Miss Pauling.” Intelligencer sighed smiled mirthlessly. “She's different than girls used to be.”  
“So I'm doomed.” Spotter hide his face in dirty bandages covering his palms and moaned.  
“I didn't said I don't know how to help it.” Frenchman ruffled his hair and chuckled. “I was a master of seduction in my prime time, but with some work I managed to keep my tricks fresh. Don't worry, you'll win her heart in no time.”

  
**83\. Restless**   
_Marked by a lack of quiet, repose or rest._

  
Demoman looked at their youngest team-mate with interest, trying to guess if his new image was a consequence of some permanent brain damage or boy's father doing. It wasn't like runner didn't look like himself, but a perfectly clean shirt, combed hair and fresh socks were really rare view in his case, and it wasn't hard to notice these details. And the batter's presence! Suddenly he was tall, proud, his chin lifted a bit and genuine smile in place of his usual arrogant grin – that was a truly charming picture. Boy always was handsome, that was for sure, but this day he certainly overdid himself.  
“Let me guess.” Scotsman looked at spotter's suspiciously proud parent. “That's yer wark, heh?”  
“The touch of a true artist should be unmistakeable to you,” answered Spy, his smile widening visibly.  
“Is 'e tryin tae woo Miss Pauling?” Cyclops rose one eyebrow, watching his friend pacing in place, like he was preparing himself for battle, not a visit of his crush.  
“Again?” Engineer readjusted his helmet and looked at them (well, presumably he watched his interlocutors, but with these dark lenses they couldn't be sure about that), slightly setting his jaw in astonishment. “But he usually fails.”  
“He _always_ fails,” Sniper corrected him, shooting them unamused glare from above his aviators.  
“Not this time.” Agent crossed his arms, looking completely unmoved by assassin's lack of faith.  
“What's so different _this time_?” Heavy joined their discussion, cocking his head to the side, like a curious parent listening to the prattle or little children.  
“I taught him how to seduce a woman.” Infiltrator almost shined with pride.  
“I can't vait to see it.” Medic chuckled darkly, like usual, when he supposed that one of his colleagues is going to fail in terrible, but also amusing way. “This vill be a pleasure to vatch.”  
“THAT'S NOT HOW YOU CHEER UP YOUR TEAM-MATES, MAGGOT!” Soldier pointed him with accusation written all over the lower half of his face. “WHEN YOUR FELLOW PRIVATE WANTS TO PICK UP A HUMAN OR A MAGICIAN YOU HAVE TO KEEP YOUR FINGERS CROSSED AND ROOT FOR HIM FROM THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS!”  
“... But you knov you don't have to scream?” Doctor took off his covered with spit glasses and wiped them clear. “I can hear you just fine, even vhen you're speaking normally, you knov?”  
“LISTEN, YOU CHANGING SUBJECT...”  
“All right, all right, lets cheer for the boy. Vo-hoo.” Sawbones rolled his eyes. “Happy nov?”  
Their quarrel continued for few minutes more, but it was quiet enough to be easily ignored by the rest of the team – other mercenaries were too busy with making bets to be distracted with another rage eruption coming from their self-proclaimed leader and the only surgeon in the whole world who preferred to touch their patients' intestines with bare hands. After some time, their colleagues became too exhausted to scream at each other anymore and also threw something to the pool, making the crew split in half. Soldier, Spy, Demoman and Pyro bet that this time Scout will succeed and find a way to his true love's heart; Sniper, Engineer, Medic and Heavy foretold spectacular failure and seemed to absolutely sure of their win.  
The last thirteen minutes to Miss Pauling's arrival seemed to be strangely nervous and all of them were trying to occupy themselves with some more or less complicated pastimes, without any success, might be added. Agent was compulsively checking his son's shoelaces and bandages, trying to stop the boy from ruining his attire too early, and runner was trying to shoo him off and save at last some of his dignity. Scotsman was chatting with Jane, both of them trying hard not to drink and/or smoke (both these activities were forbidden in conference room). Medic on the other hand was writing something, what – after Engineer's short investigation – transpired to be a sweet poem about two doves in love. The next doctor's goal was to kill the curious inventor with his saw, but thankfully Heavy decided go in between them and stop surgeon from committing a murder. Their short friend form Texas was constantly changing his occupation, starting from spying on other's doing (and running form the physician afterwards) and then coming through such activities like looking at some old newspaper, polishing his safety helmet and trying to kill a number of house flies. Their one and only Russian, when the situation between Engie and physician seemed to be almost normal, occupied himself with reading some novel, but it was obvious that he wasn't paying any attention to the plot. Pyro, on the other hand, just sat in front of the clock on the wall and was slowly swaying right and left, mimicking the pendulum. The only one who remained at last a bit calm was their assassin, who not only was able to sit in one place for the whole time, but also changed his face expression only two, maybe three times. For some reason none of them were able to relax and everyone seemed to be almost fidgeting at the very thought of what was coming. Despite what they put their money on, all of the crew was waiting impatiently for their guest's arrival, even if none of them vocalized his annoyance.  
The sound of scooter's engine put and end to their agony and all mercenaries could finally relax a bit. It was a matter of seconds before they will be able to find out, if their youngest colleague will succeed, or once again his young heart will get broken in half.  
“I told you I can carry it.” They heard characteristic, pleasant voice of their female supervisor. “It's not _that_ heavy.”  
“Yeah, I know.” The other voice was a surprise, but it was also strangely familiar somehow. “But remember, ya're the brain in this relationship, so please, lemme be the brawl and every one will be happy.”  
When the door finally opened, all hosts were... Shocked, to put it lightly. None of them was suspecting appearance of some completely generic RED Scout, but here he was, carrying small TV in his hands and letting Miss Pauling enter the room.  
“Good Morning.” Young woman seemed to completely unmoved by their astonished faces. “Sweetie, can you put it right there?”  
Enemy batter shot her wide smile and delicately placed the television tube on the small table, checking twice if BLUs can see it. When he completed this task, he sat silently in the corner, letting his companion proceed.  
“Gentlemen.” Miss Pauling cleared her throat and looked at them seriously. “I have bad news.”

  
**100\. Worried**   
_Afflicted with or marked by anxious uneasiness or trouble or grief._

  
Demoman crossed his arms and hummed silently, trying not to show his highly conflicted emotions. On one hand, yes, fighting with robots and earning maddening amounts of money sounded like fun, and he was really looking forward to kick some metallic asses of these sad bastards, but also it was... Strangely unsettling. Naturally he was aware of the fact that being a mercenary meant risking their lives was simply part of their job, but was it really possible for them to go back to being truly mortal people? No respawn, no retakes, no second chances – it's win or die kind of deal. During last few years they forgot how it was to wait for wounds to heal, how long broken bones could cause pain, how to avoid the danger and survive. They learned to be chaotic, scatterbrained and completely unpredictable – what wasn't that bad. But also it wasn't the best way to keep their lives and eventually go back home. This time they could die for real and there would be no one able to turn it back. That was... Strange thought. Of course described setting was a true challenge and Scotsman was really eager to take his part, but proving himself was really worth it? Well, perhaps a year ago he wouldn't even think about it, but now... He had too much to loose. Good colleagues, friends, his beloved one – he really didn't want to go where they couldn't follow.  
But, as much as Cyclops wasn't fond of their new situation, he had something other what demanded his undivided attention – as soon as Scout realised someone already won Miss Pauling's heart and, what was the worst part of it, was doing really good job at making her happy, poor boy was getting more and more pale and silent. The usual bright light disappeared from these insanely blue eyes which got dark and empty. Runner looked like someone who was dying inside and didn't manage to hide it. Probably he was too miserable to really care what others could see and think about it, what was absolutely understandable. Grenadier knew too well the pain of broken heart and remembered how hard it was to keep straight face in situations like this one. Usually he managed to put up any sensible pretences for maybe few minutes, sometimes hour, but then his emotions usually took over, changing him into wrecked mess of tears and drunken babbling. Bombardier was almost sure it was the most serious rejection in his young friend's life – of course many girls turned him down in more or less rough manner, but none of them was the one and only Miss Pauling.  
Highlander looked around and realised he wasn't the only one who was worried about their unusually quiet team-mate. Spy was watching his son really closely, sadness visible in his eyes. Maybe he wasn't the most caring parent in the world, but he loved his child and boy's pain was truly devastating to him. Pyro also seemed to be nervous, but it was hard to guess his exact feelings (as usual, might be added). His covered with rubber gloves hands were shaking slightly, and finally firefly moved from his chair and sat next to spotter, nuzzling his temple with the filter of his mask. The rest of the team wasn't so affectionate, but it was clear that they were more interested in their colleague's well‑being than in Pauling's speech about the conditions in their new base.  
When the meeting was finally over, batter left the room without even a word and slowly walked down the corridor, his steps erratic and heavy. It was really painful to watch – maybe they were bloodthirsty mercenaries, but even they couldn't stand the view of their friend in pain. Yes, Scout's crush was annoying and even maddening at times, but non-reciprocated feelings and broken heart were two different things. Poor boy deserved some sympathy from them and perhaps that was the reason why none of his colleagues said even a word about all of this, at last not until spotter disappeared inside his bedroom.  
“This is bad.” Heavy shook his bald heat, lowering his gaze. “Really bad.”  
“He just needs some time.” Medic patted his massive shoulder and bit on his lower lip. “At last I hope so.”  
“An if not?” Sniper crossed his arms, watching the rest of the crew from behind his yellow lenses. “We have only one week before leaving this place. Do you really think he'll be able to pull himself together so fast?”  
“Well... He hiv us.” Demo sighed, letting agent lean against him. “We'll dae something.”  
“And vhat vould it be, exactly?” Doctor rose one eyebrow, as usual when his bullshit sense was tingling.  
“A... A daena knaw. Nae yet.” Scotsman huffed. “But A winna let 'im be sae sad.”  
“We're with you.” Engineer sighed. “All of us.”

  
**77\. Productive**   
_Able to produce; generative; creative._

  
“Gentlemen.” Spy looked at his team-mates sitting in one of the old storage rooms beneath the base. “I suppose all of you know, why I gathered you here.”  
Of course they knew very well why they all needed to sit down and talk, in any other case none of these deadbeats would arrive on the meeting, but agent was too fond of theatrical gestures to give them up so easily. Besides, he has always wanted to use this sentence and this could be his only chance. But, as much as he was pleased with himself and his mysterious and oh-so-suave demeanour, the topic of their discussion was too serious to play these games for too long. Despite intelligencer's deepest wishes, his dear child was still absolutely devastated and something had to be done about that not only because the heartache itself – boy had to go back to his normal self before their first encounter with Grey Mann's forces, or else he could... Well, die. And that wasn't something masked mercenary would like to witness.  
“As you probably noticed my s.... Our dear Scout...”  
“Just call him your **Sohn** and let's stop this annoying charade, you **Paranoiker**.” Medic shot him miffed glare, indicating he was 100% done with this strange setting between the Frenchman and his offspring. “Ve all knov you are a family, yes, the opposite team knovs it too. Since ve are no enemies anymore, there's no point in keeping up these stupid pretences, don't you think?”  
“... As you probably noticed, my son,” master of disguise continued, pretending he hadn't noticed doctor's interruption, “still didn't recovered after recent events...”  
“After he was definitely dumped.” Sniper rolled his eyes with annoyance. “Can we pass the part when you're telling us obvious things and go straight to planning what to do about it?”  
Spy sighed heavily and simply gave up. There was no point in trying to keep a civilised conversation with these people and perhaps it would be for the best to stop pretending this meeting could be at last somehow organised. Under any other circumstances agent would _never_ allow such chaos and disobedience, but they were short of time – they had only four days left to pack their things up and move to the Decoy, so they had to take proper steps immediately.  
“ _Bon_.” Infiltrator cleared his throat. “So? Does any one of you have any suggestion what should be done?”  
“Broken heart isn't something you can just fix with few wires and screws, son.” Engineer scratched his neck hesitantly. “It demands some... Delicacy.”  
“WELL, GOOD OL' SCREW WOULDN'T KILL THE BOY EITHER.” Soldier nodded, his helmet swaying up and down, completely unsynchronised with the movements of his owner's head. “YOU KNOW, ONE NAIL DRIVES OUT ANOTHER...”  
The rest of the team studied him for a longer while and then looked at each other, none of them able to find proper words to describe how inappropriate was that suggestion.  
“Tavish dear, I think it's _your_ turn to explain him why violence, booze and prostitutes aren't suitable solutions for any kind of emotional and social problems.” Frenchman sighed and reached for his cigarettes.  
“I HADN'T HOOKERS IN MIND.” Jane looked really offended. “BUT IT'S EASIER TO FORGET ABOUT A GIRL WHEN YOU'RE OCCUPIED WITH ANOTHER ONE.”  
“It would be almost good idea...” Tex took off his safety hat and placed it on the table, sighing deeply. “If one of us was a girl.”  
Seven and a half pairs of eyes looked in the general direction of Pyro, who was flipping through dusty pages of almost ancient magazine found in one of the boxes. Initially their favourite arsonist didn't get why colourful paper became a centre of everyone's attention, but after a while a realisation came upon the incendiary. With a one straightened finger inhabitant of asbestos suit expressed all possible thoughts about their quarrel on topic of firefly's biological sex and came back to the lecture.  
“So, as I said, we have no girl.” Inventor cleared his throat, trying to break the awkward silence. “So, nope, we can't find him a date.”  
“Vell... Maybe lobotomy?” Medic readjusted his glasses. “It's quick and almost painless process. Or so I heard.”  
“ _Non_ ,” hissed Spy, clenching his teeth.  
“A hiv ane soultion in mynd, but A'm afraid ye winna like it.” Demoman wrinkled his nose.  
“... You mean alcohol, right?” Agent rose one eyebrow.  
“It's not that bad, actually.” Heavy nodded, crossing his arms. “Will help to forget. Back home we solved problems like that with vodka and singing sad songs.”  
“... Does anyone of you have an idea which, outside this damned base, isn't considered as a pathology?” Infiltrator had strange feeling that he was only one normal person in the room. “No? All right. So, alcohol it is. I hope one day my son will forgive me letting you help him.”

  
**70\. Optimistic**   
_Expecting the best._

  
Demoman was perfectly aware of the fact he was probably a drunkard or he was really close to becoming one – for now he was able to stop himself from drinking if he really wanted to remain sober, mostly because he finally found things which were worthy being completely aware of what was happening. Of course his memories were still haunting him like a rabid hounds, but there were plenty things which were able to stop him from remembering these horrible times. He had great friends and pals, and, what was the most important part, someone who truly loved him with all his flaws and mistakes he made. That was definitely something he wanted to enjoy and _remember_ , so he gradually decreased the amount of booze filling his veins and resigned himself to drinking only light alcoholic beverages like Scrumpy or beer. Spy was madly proud of him, what was a prize itself, but Scot also managed to acknowledge other more or less visible effects of being less intoxicated than it had a place in the past – his reflexes and stocktaking were better, he was able of making more reasonable decisions even in the heat of the fight and he wasn't so tired at the end of the round.  
But as much as he was glad about his achievements, this time he had to forget about what he was able to do sober – this evening required him to remember, how it was to participate in a true binge leading all participants into oblivion and cruel arms of hangover. Maybe it wasn't the best way of solving problems of personal nature, but all of them agreed it was the only one they could arrange under current circumstances. That's why he bought and distilled as many alcohol as it was possible in two days, preparing the right amount of supplies for the party.  
“I still have conflicted feelings about this,” confessed infiltrator, massaging his covered with mask temples. “I really don't want my son to participate in this... event, but I know it's probably is the best idea at the moment.”  
“Daena wirry, awtching will be fine.” Cyclops patted his shoulder, hoping that this gesture will manage to lift his lover's spirit. “He's me friend. A winna let onything bad happen tae him.”  
“I know, I know, but...“ Frenchman sighed dramatically. “I still feel like it's all my fault. If I was a better father...”  
“Ye canna change the past.” Grenadier smiled mirthlessly, hugging him tightly. “But what ye will dae aboot yer future matters.”  
“... It's good to hear something like that from you.” Master of disguise rose one eyebrow. “I mean, no offence, but... I'm glad you from all of people actually believe in these words.”  
“Ye taught me that.” Highlander nuzzled his covered with mask temple, closing his only eye. “Sae A think ye can forgive yerself too.”  
“I guess so...” Spy exhaled slowly, resting his forehead on Highlander's shoulder.  
“We can help 'im.” Demo caressed his nape, stroking it softly with his palm. “He'll be 'is ol' self in nae time, ye'll see. But nou ye hiv tae believe it's nae yer fault. Things like that juist happen an we canna dae onything aboot that. A got dumped more times than A can remember an, as ye can see, A'm still happy. He'll be too, one day.”  
Maybe he wasn't the best example of a statistic citizen, but still even he was able to see how much his life has changed. Before he met his friends and fell in love with his one and only secret agent, he was miserable, constantly drunk bastard with palms almost painfully curled into filled with hate and grief fists. No one cared about him, and, what was probably the biggest problem there, he wasn't giving a shit either. He was just floating in space, getting into fights and screaming at the top of his lungs, trying to cover his sadness and sorrow with hate. But, despite all of his mistakes and sins, he received a second chance for salvation. He met people who saw something in angry grenadier, something, he was sure he lost a long of time ago. Their faith, friendship and love motivated him to at last try to be maybe not normal (that was probably impossible for him), but at last not so miserable. If he was able to change so much, there was a hope for everyone, infiltrator and Scout included. One day all of them will be happy and calm, without tears in their eyes and scars on their backs.  
He was sure of it.

  
**42\. Giddy**   
_Having a reeling, light-headed sensation; dizzy._

  
Despite all of his doubts, Spy had to admit that this crazy method was working surprisingly well. Thankfully spotter was lithe and light, so he got profusely sloshed before his companions managed to change their current status from “tipsy” to “drunk”. Not like it stopped them from intoxicating themselves further – for some reason they were determined to get as inebriated as it was only possible. Even Medic, who usually was a great enemy of poisoning their bodies, screamed “Octoberfeeeeest!” and was simply drowning himself in beer. The only one who remained relatively sober was agent himself, who was slowly sipping his wine – after his adventures with Demolition expert's home-made alcoholic drinks he preferred more reliable sources, hoping that it will help him hold his liquor in relatively more classy manner. Besides, he really liked wine, so it wasn't like he wasn't having a good time. Plus, being perfectly conscious gave him an interesting opportunity for watching his team-mates in this oh-so-entertaining state of childlike excitement over everything.  
“YOU SEE THAT SCAR?” Solly was even more audible than usual. “WHEN I MOVE MY ARM IT LOOKS LIKE RUNNING PUPPY!”  
“I can see zat!” Sawbones readjusted his glasses and almost buried his nose in Doe's flexing bicep. “And nov I can't.”  
“Come on, doc, don't fall under the table, yet.” Engineer grabbed his collar and readjusted surgeon's position to prevent surgeon from leaning against their leader too much. “We'll need ya tomorrow.”  
“For vhat?” Physician looked at him with interest, his eyes suddenly a bit more coherent than a minute ago.  
“For healing our...” Sniper started, but momentally lost the track of his thoughts. “What do you call that thing that happens the day after?”  
“Regret an escape?” suggested Scotsman.  
“Nah. The other one.”  
“A bail?” Scout poured himself another glass of Scrumpy, trying not to spill too much of a liquid.  
“If you think I vill pay a bait for anyone of you, you're vrong.” Medic shook his head. “Besides it's nothing I can heal.”  
“Hangover!” Assasin finally found the word he was looking for and now looked really proud of himself.  
“Vhat about it?” asked surgeon.  
“... Oi forgot.” Shooter sighed and grabbed another bottle. “Perhaps it's nothing important.”  
Agent chuckled quietly, relieving in the fact he won't need medical help tomorrow, and focused his attention on the main guest of the evening, namely Scout. After few days of being completely miserable and depressed, boy was finally almost chipper, laughing loudly and smiling to his comrades. Of course his poor heart still weren't perfectly healed – these things need time – but he was reminded that he still had his friends, who were eager to help him in any given situation, not only on the battlefield. Maybe he could be a insufferable brat sometimes, but spotter never was ungrateful, so he was able to appreciate the effort they put in lifting his spirits. Besides, it was hard to remain miserable in so colourful company of experienced mercs who were more than happy to share their crazy stories about old jobs and places they visited. Even Heavy was surprisingly talkative, telling about his wintry motherland and the adventures he had there as a young boy.  
Infiltrator smiled to himself and leaned against his lover, enjoying the warmth radiating from under the woollen sweater. Despite the fact Cyclops was already quite drunk and any more intimate endearments would be wrong – mostly because tomorrow his one-eyed mercenary wouldn't remember them – masked mercenary supposed that a bit of closeness couldn't do any harm. Thankfully, even when intoxicated, grenadier was a true gentleman and never tried to do anything “funny” under the influence.  
“Hello.” Highlander smiled down at him, his cheeks a bit darker than usual.  
“ _Salut_ ,” he answered, grinning happily.  
Suddenly, Frenchman forgot why they gathered here and what was waiting for them in Decoy; every thought about intimidating future and grievous past slipped his mind when he was looking into that warm, amber eye filled with love and fondness. For many people their relationship was a pitiful attempt at rescuing human wreck from falling onto the bottom, but it wasn't true, it never was. From the very beginning bombardier was something much more than anyone could suspect, waiting for the right person to help him believe in himself. And now, after weeks and months spent together, when their fingers were lacing together instinctively, Spy finally realised this is exactly what he was looking for. It was love, the one bigger than life, eternal and indestructible. They were supposed to be together to the end of their lives, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. And that simple thought was enough to make him feel dizzy, like it wasn't just a wine he was drinking for all of the night – his head was spinning and bones melted into a warm puddle of numbness, and the only thing holding him together were these arms around him, keeping him safe.  
 _We have to survive this madness._


	16. Chapter 16

**25\. Depressed**   
_Low in spirits, dejected; suffering from psychological depression._

  
Agent sighed and looked around, trying to spot anything what needed to be packed. His suitcase was already full, since he was always travelling light, but for the first time in a long time he felt he was leaving something important behind him, but he couldn't name it. Perhaps it was more like a feeling of attachment than a real object, but still it was getting on his nerves, leaving him restless and sad. On one hand it was just a base like any other else, he saw them almost all and there was nothing to be so emotional about. But on the other one... His service here was an unique time in his life – for the first time he found a team he not only respected but also liked, he had a chance to work with his son and he found his Demoman. Somehow these events made him forget about cold and somehow damped walls, creaky widows and floors, dust and dirt on every single windowsill, cold nights and the insufferable smell of a must. They were just insignificant details compared to other, far more important and vivid memories.  
Initially, intelligencer thought being transferred here was fate worse than death itself – what good could come out of sitting in the middle of nowhere, hoping that no creature living in these dark forests will be hungry or deranged enough to approach this forgotten by all divine powers facility without any reasonable purpose. And now? Now he was so devastated by the perspective of leaving this shit hole. Even if they were destined to face difficult and dangerous times, he will always remember this base as a happy and calm place where his life took unexpected turn and once again found it's true meaning. Thanks to the people he met here he become not only better friend and father, now he was simply a better _person_ and somehow every single member of his crew was responsible. Of course it was Scotsman who did most of the work, but other helped too, and infiltrator was truly grateful for that.  
And now... Now he was losing this place forever. The war between RED and BLU was over and the new danger was waiting ahead. It could be the last time he saw all of his friends, his son and lover safe and sound. There were no guarantees all of them will survive the battle with Mann forces, no promises of living happily ever after. Until now he couldn't care less about such things, but now he was almost scared to death. That wasn't what he wanted for himself and his companions, but unfortunately nothing could be done about it.  
“Ready tae gae?” Cyclops showed in the doorway, smiling slightly.  
“... _Oui_ ,” he lied, grabbing his case. “I'm coming.”  
“Something's wrang?” Grenadier looked him in the eye, cocking his head to the side.  
“Nothing in particular,” sighed Spy, hoping his face wasn't betraying him. “I just... I will miss this place.”  
“Ye daena want tae gae there, dae ye?” Highlander touched his shoulder, smiling slightly. “Daena want tae risk awthing?”  
“I'm worse at lying to you than I thought.” Masked mercenary closed his lids, feeling like he was about to cry and fall apart.  
There should be a way to conceal all of this pain and the thoughts he didn't want to endure, but, for unknown reason, he wasn't able to do this anymore. This fear was just too much, and at some point all of his façades and barriers broke down, leaving him completely naked and vulnerable. He hated to be like that, helpless and pathetic, but this time he wasn't strong enough to care. All he wanted right now, were these two arms curled around his frame and genuine promises that everything will be all right, that they will survive whatever was waiting for them and somehow there will be a happy ending for them all. That, despite what he learned about this cruel world, there was a chance for salvation, a chance for being normal, decent people with almost boring lives and future which lacked in pain and blood. And, as usual, his beloved one gave him all of this and even more.  
“A luve ye.” These words never were so sweet. “A winna die and winna let ye gae. Naebody winna die on my watch.”  
It was so naïve to believe such words, but at this moment masked mercenary was so tired of what was right or wrong. If the love of his life was telling him, that all of them will come back from Decoy, he was more than eager to accept it. No matter what was going to happen, this man was his ultimate anchor, so whatever he had t say was everything masked mercenary wanted and needed to hear.  
“An I won't let you die,” whispered Spy, feeling tears slowly dripping down his covered with mask cheeks.

  
**14\. Cheerful**   
_Reflecting willingness or good humour._

  
“Oh God, someone kill me, please.” Scout whined, covering his face.  
“Oh, shut up, _please_ ,” barked agent and shot him dreadful glare. “And let me drive in peace.”  
Leaving Double Cross was a silent and depressing process for all of them. Not only infiltrator managed to grow fond of the place and get scared of what was waiting for them in new base – all of them were affected by this sudden change in their lives. Until now, the whole team could not believe in what was going to happen, but when they left the main gate far behind their cars, they all had to accept the truth. The whole new war was beginning and they were going to stand on the front line. Unfortunately, before the main even was destined to start, they had to make it to the makeshift facility. And that meant a long, long travel...  
“But this is sooooo boring.” Spotter sighed dramatically. “I'm gonna die before we finally get there!”  
Well, he had a point. Of course deserts and grasslands were a truly magnificent view, but only of an hour or so. A second day of driving through this void was simply maddening not only for the runner, but also for the whole crew. As far as they could see there was nothing but rocks, dust and sun – even masked mercenary at some point realised he was simply tired of all of this. And his one and only child wasn't helping. The boy was always over-energetic, what in his line of work was highly desirable, but under current circumstances, it was simply _maddening_. Thankfully the boy was wiser than moving and jumping in his father's car (perhaps the temperature was finally getting on him), but still he had enough of strength to complain.  
“Here,” Frenchman reached to the glove compartment and produced a walkie-talkie. “Find out if we can talk to others.”  
“Thanks, pa!” Kid smiled and started to switch all of the buttons, trying to find the right frequency. “This is Scout. Can someone hear me? Over.”  
“Loud an clear, boyo.” Static slightly mutilated Demoman's voice, but still it was recognizable. “Hou are ye daein? Over.”  
“I'm bored,” admitted runner, smiling to himself. “And ya? Over.”  
“Nae bad.” Scot chuckled. “We're at the fourth beer.”  
“You're drinking and driving?!” Infiltrator almost grabbed the poor radio, but managed to keep his hand in place on the steering wheel.  
“Nae! Who dae ye thin A am?” Cyclops sounded highly unamused. “Jane drinks mine beers too.”  
“Sorry, love. I'm a bit stressed.”  
“Oh, great.” Medic's voice as usual was highly unamused. “Like that last party vasn't enough for all of you. I von't give him painkillers this time!”  
“Hi, doc!” Picket laughed. “What about ya? Dontcha tired of driving alone?”  
“I'm not alone, I'm vith my doves.” Slight change in surgeon's tone suggested, that this time man smiled a bit. “Spy, if your boy bothers you, I can put him into one of my cages.”  
“I think I'll keep him.” Agent smirked.  
“I wouldn't.” Heavy's voice echoed, like he wasn't in Sniper's van but in a cave. “But that's your car.”  
“Ha, ha, really funny fatso.” Picket rolled his eyes. “And how ya three doin'?”  
“Peachy.” Assassin's voice somehow contradicted this admission. “What idiot decided this is the best path?!”  
“Dunno.” Scout shrugged. “We got these maps from Miss Pauling, but I doubt it was her who took care of the route. Bidwell maybe? Why do ya ask?”  
“Because at some point we will be forced to refill fuel and I can't see any gas station nearby, that's why.”  
“We can turn left on the nest crossing and there will be some civilisation.” Engineer calmed him down. “And perhaps it would be good to eat something before the night stop in the motel, what do you think?”  
“GREAT THINKING, PRIVATE!”  
“Wo-hoo!” Batter jumped in his seat.  
“We'll meet you there.” Agent smiled to his son. “And doc?”  
“ **Ja**?”  
“Prepare the cage.”  
“ _Da-ad_?!”

  
**59\. Listless**   
_Lacking energy or disinclined to exert effort; lethargic._

  
“I don't know what's worse,” exclaimed infiltrator, looking with disgust at already dirty floor, “the accommodations here or the fact we're living with REDs.”  
“Arena we supposed tea forget aboot the past?” Demoman sighed, falling onto the narrow mattress. “There's nae RED an BLU anymore.”  
“I don't know how it can change the fact they are wicked bastards every single one of them.” Frenchman almost shuddered as he approached the bed, unbuttoning his jacket. “And where's that shifty rat? I haven't seen him around.”  
“Ye mean the other Spy?” Cyclops murmured into the pillow, not bothering with lifting his head. “He's nae there. Jane said that ane of ye is more than eneuch, sae he's in anither base.”  
“Thankfully.” Masked mercenary smiled to himself and pushed grenadier a bit to the side to make some room for himself. “That shifty cretin never could be trusted. And, for your information, understanding you is difficult enough when you're not muted.”  
Long hours spent in car with one of their favourites lunatics not only made Scotsman stiff, but also drained all of his energy. All he wanted was a hot bath and maybe a small glass of Scrumpy, but unfortunately he couldn't get none of these thing in this damned place. Double Cross was a perfect example of shit hole (not like he minded – as a Demolition Man he had to live in far worse places), but this place wasn't even a real base! Everything here was nothing more but a mock-up made to divert Mann's attention from far more important facilities, what was a rather good explanation of the name “Decoy”. Why they were protecting it then, well, he had no idea. Perhaps Doe understood the reason why they needed so bad to risk their lives for saving few sheds from being blown up, what wasn't anything good. Whatever Jane's deranged and scattered mind was able to comprehend, it probably had no sense. Of course Cyclops loved his loud and sometimes not so smart friend, but he knew who Solly was. Nevertheless, here they were, ready to earn their money and make Saxton Hale proud.  
Grenadier groaned when warm, a slender fingertips dipped into the tensed muscles of his neck. Of course it was a painful experience, but also really relaxing at the same time – with every slow movement of these wonderful palms, he felt more and more relieved, making his poor backbone truly grateful. If a long ride from Double Cross to this damned excuse for a barracks was a murder committed on his spine, then this maybe not professional, but firm massage was a resurrection.  
“Ye're pure gold, dautie,” sighed Highlander, slowly melting onto the sheets.  
“You're welcome.” The touch of fingers was accompanied by a warm kiss on his nape.


	17. Chapter 17

**9\. Blank**   
_Lacking expression; expressionless._

  
It was almost intimidating how many things can change in a spawn of a ten days week. Not so long ago their main problem was to steal an Intel from enemy's base (and do it quicker than opposite team), but now they will have to simply survive the assault of not nine maybe twelve mercenaries, but dozens of robots. Unfortunately, for the time being none of Mann Co. facilities was provided with proper respawn system, so suddenly very painful and, what was more important, absolutely _permanent_ death jumped onto the first place on the list of the dangers behead. Especially Scout and Demo, who were true specialists at risking their lives without any good reason, seemed to be endangered, what made Spy's heart clench into a painful knot of worry and fear. The last thing he wanted to see was blood of people he loved so much. He wouldn't shed a single tear for many imbeciles he knew and was forced to cooperate with (not like any one of mentioned characters were present here), but these two maniacs were special to him and their pain would be for agent worse than his personal loss. But that was the life of a mercenary – there was absolutely no power able to stop them from jumping into the abyss of danger for the right amount of money. At times like that intelligencer truly regretted the fact, that his boy had so many thing in common with him after all.  
“Lookin' for somethin', son?” RED Engineer tipped his helmet in some sort of salute.  
Thankfully, not all of the recent changes were potentially lethal. For example, working with former enemies simply made everyone somehow tense, but not dead. Not yet, at last. It wasn't like it was something particularly desirable in their current situation, but still it wasn't the worst that could happen to them. Frenchman was almost absolutely sure of that. Almost.  
“Nice view you have here.” Infiltrator cleared his throat.  
“Well, it's not bad.” Inventor sighed with satisfaction like someone, who was familiar with the smell of napalm in the morning. “I can see all of their paths from 'ere. But tell me, shouldn't ya be down there?”  
Spy turned towards mechanic, watching him closely. True, agent's presence was required somewhere else, but he never liked when people decided they had right to tell him what he should and shouldn't do. Both his superiors an colleagues in secret service, and later team-mates from BLU respected his sense of reason and politely _asked_ him to do certain things. Even Soldier never dared to use his famous patronizing tone towards him, what was definitely something. So now RED Engie's words were something new for masked mercenary and the latter definitely wasn't fond of the sensation.  
“Do you remember all the times when I killed you and destroyed all of your toys in Double Cross?” he asked politely, readjusting his tie.  
“Yeah, what about that?”  
“I am definitely _not_ sorry.”  
And with that he leaved the roof and walked towards the tunnel. On the other side was the pion where robot troops were supposed to be dropped (at last according to his research), and now almost all of his comrades gathered there, preparing themselves for the incoming Hell.  
And the Hell they found.  
There was something in fidgety masses what made intelligencer quite uneasy. For example, he had absolutely nothing against a single mouse, even three or four weren't able to affect him in any way. When he was forced to observe the true plague of hundreds maybe even thousands of moving, squeaking and constantly shitting everywhere mice, he wished his stomach was completely empty and preferably somewhere outside his body. That's why the phalanx of mechanic Scouts made him nauseous, to put it lightly. There were far too many of them and the way they were running around... That was truly unsettling and unpleasant view. And the sounds they made! Frenchman barely could stand the cacophony of their steps and mechanic, almost mutilated voices. It was noise from the very bottom of a nightmare and it was making him sick. And these robots weren't the worst thing they had to face.  
It was hard to describe Spy's emotions when the first tank leaved the tunnel. There was something grim and terrifying in this giant, massive machine. It's slow but unrelenting travel through the battlefield reminded him some parades he witnessed as a child, but they definitely weren't so... Quiet. In contrast to the robots, this vehicle made almost no sound, indifferently pushing forward like a silent but very real promise of doom. And all of them felt that – even their self-proclaimed leader in the person of Soldier shut up for once in his life and had whispered only one word before he pulled himself together and finally attacked the tank:  
“Goliath.”  
Well, they could be called Davids in this battle. Small, almost defenceless and fragile people whose projectiles seemed nothing more but a stones thrown at something as indestructible as a mountain. They seemed so meaningless, comparing to their countless enemies and that horrifying giant. Of course they had a small chance for victory, but could they really make it?  
Spy did not know that.  
For the first time he knew absolutely nothing.

  
**80\. Relaxed**   
_Free from strain or tension._

  
One week was more than enough to make them completely drained. This was the whole new level of tiresome experience. In the Double Cross, they had only the enemy team as opponents and their number was always limited. But here? These robots were almost countless, coming from absolutely nowhere. Mercenaries could destroy ten, twenty, hundred of these synthetic creatures and they were still coming, accompanied by tanks and other strange machines, like bomb on legs for example. And they had their own tricks too, making gathered in Decoy mercenaries feel somehow small and completely useless. Of course, for now they were able to protect the “base” but for how long? Hard to tell. On thing they knew for sure – this situation couldn't last forever. Something had to be done, but what? They couldn't exactly go the the Mann's headquarters and punch him in the face to stop this madness. Not because they were too delicate to do such thing (that was the last adjective they could be described with), nothing of that, but they simply had no idea where mentioned headquarters could be. That unfortunately left them only option – stay here and wait for what was about to come.  
Strangely, that situation somehow helped them with many trust issues they developed in the past. Now, when the permanent death was a true danger, the colour of their uniform didn't matter, not really. Of course, initially it was difficult for them to spend free time in company of former enemies (for agent it was extremely hard, but he managed to behave like a civilised adult he claimed to be), but after few afternoons in makeshift recreation room they got along quite well. Especially Engineers, whose good nature and easygoing attitude were almost legendary, seemed to be quite good pals and not only during strictly social activities – after missions they did their best to build a functioning respawn system here, what boosted morale of every single mercenary in Decoy. Others had far less productive pastimes, since they had no real access to any kind of labs, workshops or even decent library.  
“Roight...” Sniper scratched his nose and hunched over the table. “So Oi move this here... And Oi have a king nou.”  
“Good move.” Heavy nodded, watching pawns scattered across the chessboard.  
“Geez, are ye really playin' chequers?” Scout arched one eyebrow, an expression he probably somehow learnt from his father. “It's a game for kids.”  
“You know nothing, little man.” Gigantic Russian shot him patronizing glare and reached for a pawn. “Game is as good as players.”  
“Besides, what else are we supposed to do?” Assassin shrugged. “Act... Like him?” He pointed at their Medic wandering through the room.  
Deprived of cadavers and morgue doctor tended to his doves with truly motherly care, sometimes humming something, what, if performed in slightly better manner, could be called a lullaby. As much as cute such behaviour could be, somehow it made all of them uneasy – it was like living with a crazy cat lady but with almost endless stock of pointy and sharp objects in pockets. All of them decided that it would be for the best for all crew to ignore it and let him be, without trying to make him behave more like his old self.  
“And we can't act like them.” Heavy gestured in the general direction of the couch occupied by Demoman and Spy, who were lying there cuddled and took a nap.  
"You mean sleeping or being a couple?" Spotter scratched his nape, watching his father hesitantly.  
"Take a wild guess." Shooter rolled his eyes and sighed. "All roight, your turn."  
"I'm afraid our small friend won't let us play until we find something to do for him." Giant sighed, crossing his arms.  
"Wanna do something?" Australian took off his sunglasses. "Find Mann's headquarters. You're SCOUT, dammit, it should be easy."  
"You think I can't find them? Fine." Picket pouted, adjusting his cap. "Prepare to be surprised, _wanker_."  
With that resolution kid leaved the room, humming silently to himself. For a moment gathered all three of them, Heavy, Medic and Sniper looked at each other, trying to figure out if boy really decided to lave the base and get lost in the desert to prove them wrong.  
"Spy vill kill you for that." Doctor sighed, gently stroking Archimedes' head. "You knov that, right?"  
"You think?" Assasin felt a bit uneasy.  
" **Ja**."  
"Shit."

  
**64\. Moody**   
_Showing a brooding ill humour._

  
“Hou do you think... Is he mad?” Sniper whispered to Demo, trying not to attract Spy's attraction.  
“Oh, A deana knaw, let me think...” Scotsman rolled his eye. “Ye tauld 'is boy tae gae an find FECKIN ROBOT'S HEADQUARTERS. Nah, A think he's OK wi that.”  
“Oi was joking!” Assassin muttered, avoiding further eye contact.  
“A knaw, A knaw...” Cyclops patted his shoulder sympathetically and sighed. “But Scout's young an stubborn. He canna see a difference between guid an bad idea sometimes.”  
Agent shook his head and continued on walking through the desert. He wasn't mad at shooter – well, maybe he was a little bit, but not enough to show it and scream at poor guy – but the whole situation wasn't making him happy either. They had enough of troubles in Decoy and there was absolutely no need of looking them outside their so‑called base. Besides, the thought about his poor son wandering like a drunken madman through the dangerous outback was making him worried beyond words – of course intelligencer knew spotter was an adult and he was capable of taking care of himself, but in the city. Here, when he had to deal with wild animals, cactuses and rocks his survival wasn't so obvious like it was in Boston.  
Perhaps all of this stress was finally wearing on him, slowly shredding his nerves into pieces. And that was another reason to be annoyed and even miserable - he always was able to remain cool and professional (well, maybe not always, but still often enough), but now this fragile image was slowly falling apart, leaving him completely naked and scared. And it wasn't anything he ever wanted to experience in his whole life.  
But, as much as he wanted to get rid of his personal problems and pull himself together, they still had one far more important thing to do - find Scout. No matter where did he go and in what kind of troubles he managed to get himself into, they had to rescue him, kick hiss sorry ass for being an imbecile and cuddle the fuck out of him to be sure he was safe and sound. In that particular order. That's why he was slowly wandering through the desert in company of Cyclops, Sniper and Heavy, hoping for finding boy as soon as it was possible.  
"We will find 'im." Grenadier suddenly appeared right beside him, one arm around infiltrator's waist.  
"I know." He sighed, trying to keep his face straight. "Or at last I hope so."  
"An ye knaw there's naething wrang in bein worried aboot yer son, richt?" Highlander voice got a bit quieter and even a bit sad. "An aboot... Al of this mess?"  
Frenchman suddenly tensed. The last thing he wanted, was his secrets to be discovered by every single mercenary in this base. No matter what was going to happen, he had to be the last man standing, calm and completely composed, an anchor for his scared and desperate brothers in arms. He couldn't show his weakness for his own good and for every one else.  
"Why would you say something like that?" he asked casually, clearing his throat.  
"Because A knaw ye." Demo smiled lightly, his eye filled with warmth and care. "An ye canna lie tae me."  
"We won't discuss it here."  
"Oi see something!" Assassin squinted, watching something in the distance. "Follow me."  
After a short sprint to the nearest hill, they simply had to re-evaluate all of their life choices, trying to figure out how it was possible for their lives to get so wrong and strange. They expected to see really many things, corpses and robots included, but not... This. For some reason, completely unknown fro all of them, their Scout was sitting on a rock in company of Miss Pauling, RED Soldier and Heavy. The presence of mentioned trio was enough of surprise, but for some reason they were dressed in something, what was simply... Silly. They were wearing strange masks made of old boxes and plastic cups, and their arms were hidden in some king of elastic silver pipes, making them look like a really poor imitations of robots.  
"What the fuck?" Agent arched one eyebrow, trying to understand what he was looking at and why it was happening to him.  
"Hello, dad" Spotter smiled widely, showing his overgrown teeth. "I found Mann's headquarters. And... Them."  
"Dae we really want tae knaw?" asked Scotsman, crossing his arms.  
"No." Miss Pauling seemed to be adamant about it. "We discovered some valuable information, but for now it's still confident. I'll call you as soon as it will be possible."  
"Of course." BLU Heavy nodded once. "Can we help you somehow?"  
"Take us to your base."

  
**98\. Vulnerable**   
_Susceptible to physical or emotional injury._

  
Intelligencer never was found of being powerless and weak. He always was perfectly aware of his surroundings, and controlled the situation and his emotions perfectly, keeping all fears and stress at bay. Of course sometimes he was losing his composure, but mostly when he was too frustrated or enamoured to fight his urges and basic human need of attention from his lover. But that was a whole different thing - pleasures of flesh weren't a weakness he was ashamed of. But being scared, helpless and vulnerable was something he never could forgive himself, no matter what others said. In his eyes pulling himself together was an only option and there was no real reason to give up. But, as easy as it could be in any other situation, lying and deceiving was strangely hard when he was in company of Cyclops, who somehow learned to read his emotions like an open book. No matter how hard Frenchman was trying to keep his face straight, grenadier was taking none of that and was able to see through all façades Spy created. It was strangely terrifying to meet someone, who could discover all of his secrets without any real effort, but on the other hand agent felt... Relieved. He didn't need to say anything, but still his silent cry for help was heard by the only person he wanted to know about his weakness. For the first time in his life being stripped of his pride wasn't so scary and painful as it used to be, and instead of shame infiltrator's heart was filled with pleasant warmth which was slowly soothing his nerves.  
Of course he wasn't able to open up completely, not yet - some things needed time. But even if he remained silent and his face expression almost didn't change during their silent discussion without words, he was sure Tavish knew everything what was happening in his lover's soul. Spy saw it in his eyes and smile, felt it in his breath and kisses, sensed it in every single stroke falling upon his face and neck. That was something more than he could ever asked for and still he craved more of this wonderful feeling of being completely accepted and adored.  
"I would be so lost without you." He whispered, nuzzling Demoman's temple. "You're the only thing keeping me sane."  
"A will ayeweys be here fer ye." Scot kissed his jaw, murmuring silently. "Ayeweys."

  
**95\. Thoughtful**   
_Engrossed in thought; contemplative._

  
Fighting with these damned robots was bad enough itself, but knowing they were developing new strategies? That was quite depressing. Not only because it complicated their already hard life here in Decoy - and Scotsman thought it couldn't get any worse, to be honest - but also made him think about all of the things he never had a chance to have. For all his life he was trying to meet expectations of his parents, be worthy of his family name, be as good Demolition expert as it was possible and generally somehow stand being himself. It was rather hard, considering the fact he was mutilated monster in eyes of most people he met, but still Cyclops was doing his best in the department of swallowing his anger and pride. But now his life was different - he had friends and someone who loved him truly, changing his fate into something not only bearable, but also simply... Good. These wonderful people respected him, accepted his flaws and looked at him with affection, even if he did nothing do deserve that. But, despite having all of this, somehow he craved even more. Perhaps it was too bold of him to want things which weren't given to him, but still... It was hard to erase this dreams and thought from his mind.  
He wanted a house. Not the mansion he bought for his mother, but a small house where he could live with his significant one, wake up together, eat a bit burned breakfasts, come for groceries and do all the things normal people do when they are together. He wanted to spend Holidays with their families and plan summer vacations, go on dates in restaurants and watch movies in their living room. He wanted many, many really simple things which were reserved for decent couples who had decent lives, but... Was it really so wrong to have some of that? Maybe he shouldn't dream about such things, because it was never healthy to want things which weren't for him, but still...  
 _Oh, the Hell with that._  
"Dautie?"  
"Oui?" Spy looked at him from above nowspaper he was reading.  
"Hiv ye... Hiv ye iver thocht aboot the future?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"Juist... Whit ye're gaein tae dae when we will leave Decoy?"  
"Well... It would be hard to count on a new contract since RED and BLU don't exist anymore..." Agent set his jaw, rising his both eyebrows. "To be honest, I had no actual plans. Why?"  
"A... A juist wantit tae knaw if ye'd like tae... A daena knaw hou tae say that... Stay with me?" Grenadier sighed, trying to calm himself down and not screw this up. "As a... Faimily? Couple? A knaw A canna propose tae ye becaue we canna get married, but..."  
Infiltrator rose from his seat and walked towards him, smiling like a madman. A year ago Highlander would be sure his companion was laughing at him, but now he even didn't think about such possibility. Now, when they went together through so many more or less strange things, he knew whatever was happening in his lover's mind, it was never going to hurt him. As much as it could be crazy, he trusted him, no matter what.  
“I'd love to spend the rest of my life with you.” Frenchman took off his mask and kissed Highlander, his skin smelling with sun and warmth. “Until death do us apart.”


	18. Chapter 18

**12\. Broken**   
_Fractured, smashed or splintered._

  
_We 're not gonna make it._  
When the thought appeared in his mind for the first time, Spy simply clenched his fists and continued on fighting, trying not to feel the pain radiating from his wounds and bruises. It was far too early to simply give up and let these bastards kill them all without breaking a sweat. They were a true mercenaries, ruthless and merciless – murdering them shouldn't be that easy for anyone, robots included. Besides, he made a promise: no one will die here. Not him, not Demo, not Scout, not _anyone_ , former RED or BLU, id didn't matter. Every single person stationed here had to walk away on their own legs and come back home, wherever it was. And no bunch of cybernetic caricatures would be able to change that, not when he had something to say about it.  
 _We 're not gonna make it._  
Second time, agent was far too busy to get really scared of how weak his mind got during last weeks. They were surrounded, heavily wounded and BLU Soldier wasn't moving anymore, his broad frame pushed against the wall like a sack of potatoes. Intelligencer was too focused on killing enemies, slowing them down and trying to control too many things to realise, that in fact this battle was over about five minutes ago and they were too stubborn to notice it. They still had too much to loose to give up, no matter how tired and drained they were. There was no other option but winning, so they had no real choice there. Or at last that was what they believed.  
 _We 're not gonna make it._  
Thee third time, they were already pushed to the limits, curled against covers around the pit, which was already waited to be blown up. They had no ammo, no shields, no real man power and no hope. Heavies and Soldiers were gone, and no one had idea where Pyro was – probably with Engineer, trying to save at last one turret. Medic was trying his best to keep them alive, but he was failing terribly, overpowered by another weaves of robots chasing him mercilessly. Doctor's scream was more like a cry now, when his beloved friends and patients were dying in his arms and there was nothing he could to change it. Masked mercenary was on his own, trying to spot his son somewhere in the crowd, but with no success – both his son and lover were on the front line, trying to kill as many incoming enemies as it was possible. But, when they finally arrived, Spy's heart clenched into painful knot of grief. Runner was barely moving, his legs bleeding and strangely numb under the weight of unconscious Demo. There was no light in Scotsman's alone aye, making him look more like a puppet or doll than a human being.  
 _We 're not gonna make it._

  
**81\. Relieved**   
_Freed from pain, anxiety or distress._

  
Cyclops hissed through clenched teeth, trying not to scream from pain. After that last stunt he pulled to save runner's sorry ass he was probably already looking like a bloody sieve, so there was no real reason to worry his beloved Spy even more. Besides, at this point he had no real strength to vocalize his pain - mostly because many of the holes he acquired, ran through his already shattered ribcage.  
"Don't you dare to _die_ on me." Agent tried to cover his fear with annoyance, but without any real success. "Don't you..."  
"Let me through!" Medic kicked some crawling robot in the ass, trying to approach their heavily wounded companions. His covered with blood coat somehow resembled of a wings of very flustered stork, making him look almost pathetic. "You stupid piece of **Sheiße** , just die and let go off me!"  
"You hear?" Inelligencer smiled weakly. "Help is on the way."  
Grenadier nodded once, watching him closely, trying to swallow his sob. There was no chance for them to survive this, what wasn't exactly a surprise - no matter how many promises was keeping them alive, the truth was obvious from the very beginning. They come here to die for nothing. Absolutely nothing...  
"Don't close your eyes." Infiltrator's voice was shaking under the pressure of hardly concealed weeping. "Stay with me."  
"A will," he promised, trying not to choke on his own blood.  
"I'm here." Surgeon dropped on his knees, preparing the device. "Spy, make me some room and keep these robots away from us for a moment."  
"Of course." Agent stood up and grabbed his gun.  
Highlander sighed and let poor physician do his job in peace, even if it was in vain. There was no hope for them to survive not only this war, but even this day. They hadn't enough of manpower, all Soldiers and Heavys were gone, many of their companions were considered lost for the moment, because no one saw them for a longer while, but there was also no solid evidence of their death. At this moment, the only two people who were still in some condition allowing them to fight were infiltrator and Scout, what wasn't a good sign. The situation was completely hopeless, but he couldn't force himself to say it aloud, because it would end the illusion they were living in.  
Sharp shot put an end to his thoughts, splicing silence with soft gasp coming from surprised Medic, whose mouth suddenly got filled with blood.  
"Ve're doomed." Sawbones choked out, dark liquid emerging above the rim of his teeth and spilling onto the front of his coat, painting it with a fresh layer of crimson stains.  
"No, we are not." Masked mercenary shot him dreadful glare, but his gaze softened, when he saw wound piercing sawbones' chest. "... _Docteur_?"  
"It's fine. Ve all have to die at some point." Surgeon shrugged and wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand. "But... I vant all of you to knov that vorking vith you vas a real honour. You're the best team I ever had and every mission vith you vas a greatest time in my life." His covered with rubber gloves fingers started to shake slightly, "And the only thing I regret is that I've never tell you hov much I enjoy your company. I vish I vas brave enough to say it some other, better time."  
"Doc..." Spotter looked at him, his incredibly blue eyes slightly fogged with tears. "Don't say that. You're not dyin', not yet."  
"I vish you vere right, my friend. And I vish I had a chance to tell Dell hov much I love him" Medic finally switched off his gun and let himself fall onto the ground. "Here you go. Feeling better?"  
"Ye're askin me?!" Demoman grabbed his arm and shook him a bit too harder than it was necessary. "Heal yourself!"  
"... You knov, I can't." Doctor shook his head, still too proud to show them how much he suffered. "And I still have not nearly enough of energy to switch on ÜberCharge..."  
"Uhm... Guys..." Runner watched something behind their backs with awe, but they were far too busy with being scared about their friend to notice that.  
"So overheal one of us, it's not that fast, but..." Spy reloaded his revolver.  
"Guys..."  
"I'm sorry, I'm too..."  
"GUYS!!!"  
All of them finally turned around to see what was so interesting in their youngest companion's opinion and simply froze. Somehow they weren't able to believe what they were seeing, mostly because it was... Impossible. They knew it simply couldn't be, but for some reason the reality once again decided to surprise them. But it was a rather pleasant surprise, might be added - the view of three Soldiers and two Heavies leaving supply room was always welcome, not only in their current situation.  
"WHAT HAPPENED?" asked one of RED Sollys, looking around with interest.  
"The respawn is on" they heard slightly mutilated BLU Engineer's voice through comm link.  
Scotsman almost fainted. These four words were one of the most beautiful things he's ever heard (the only sentence which topped that one was "I love you" coming from agent). So... There was a chance for them to survive this bloody madness? They really could win? Well, even functioning respawn system couldn't guarantee this, but still it could be the leverage they needed so desperately. Now it was a good moment to turn the tables and change the course of this war. Now they finally could do their best without worrying about survival and coming back home in one piece. Until now Cyclops had no idea how much his fears and doubts affected him, but now, when the danger of death was gone, he felt relieved as never before. A great weight was taken from his shoulders and finally he was able to think with clarity he already forgot.  
"And doc?" Conagher's voice seemed to be a bit smug and even amused.  
"Yes?" Sawbones was far too pale to be still alive, but it seemed that he was still also too stubborn to die.  
"I heard ya."  
And that was the moment, when surgeon finally tested the abilities of their brand new respawn system.

  
**39\. Exhausted**   
_Drained of energy or effectiveness._

  
With a soft murmur Spy nuzzled Demolition expert's temple, slowly inhaling his scent. Today's fight was one of the hardest in his whole, but not because he was wounded and tired - it was the first time he really could lost the love of his life, and that was something he never wanted to experience once again. It was impossible to describe the panic and pain in his heart when completely boneless Scotsman was lying on the ground, healed by dying Medic. That... That was simply too much for him. All agent wanted to do now was to hold his precious Cyclops in his arms and never let him go, in fear that his salvage was nothing more than a dream of his finally shattered with madness mind. If their survival was an illusion, intelligencer wanted to stay in it forever, surrounded by the warmth of his beloved one.  
Perhaps he was over-dramatic about all of this, but for him Mann, Hale, Administrator and Pauling could fuck off - he was ready to pack all of his things, grab his partner and son, and leave this damned place for good. He couldn't care less about this stupid war and the struggle of this crazy family. If these idiots weren't able to solve their problems like normal people, he had no intention of risking his life in the war which wasn't his own.  
"I don't want to be here anymore," he whispered, planting soft kiss on grenadier's forehead. "I don't want to see you bleeding anymore."  
Highlander said nothing, only lifted his head and kissed him back, covering Frenchman's lips with his own. Spy had no idea if it was an answer or just an endearment, but one way or another he was content with it. He was far too drained to do anything more energetic than simple touches and whispers, but he wanted to feel his Demo as much as it was only possible. He had to know this wonderful creature lying beneath him was real, alive and safe. As desperate as such desire could be, he still needed to be sure of it. This day had to be erased from his still clenched heart and only Scot's breath was able to do it.  
"We can gae if ye want." Cyclops smiled at him, stroking his unmasked face. "Even nou if ye want tae."  
Agent sobbed and fell onto his lover's chest, finally giving up and letting himself cry. He didn't care about pretences, façades and dignity anymore - there was so much pain in his soul and he was too exhausted to keep it in check. For once intelligencer wanted someone to take care of him and just let him fall apart under the pressure of hat happened. Later, when all of the spasms and tears will fade, he will rebuild his ego, soothed by soft strokes of his soul-mate's fingers, but now he needed this bitter catharsis of deconstruction. Perhaps he should be ashamed of his own completely unprofessional weakness, but he decided to ignore this thought. However his breaking down could be described by others it didn't matter. His emotions didn't need any kind of validation, not when he was with the person he loved, buried under his heavy, caring arms.

  
**46\. Grateful**   
_Appreciative of benefits received; thankful._

  
"You are all dismissed."  
He should be far more upset hearing that. Suddenly, they lost their jobs and the man, who was hiring them, gone missing. It seemed that Grey Mann somehow won the war and now they should find not only some other occupation, but also probably a good place to hide – whatever was going to happen, there was a big chance that this maniac will do something terrible, but still, Frenchman didn't care even a bit.  
 _They were free._  
After weeks spent in this Hell on Earth they finally were allowed to go wherever they want and come back to their homes or to any other place where they wanted to be.  
"So... Zis is over?" Medic turned to them, looking utterly surprised and lost.  
"Yeah, doc." Engineer patted his arm and smiled, slowly lacing their fingers together. "We can go now."  
Surgeon blushed, still unused to the fact his desperate confession was not only heard but also met a very enthusiastic answer from the man he was madly in love with. Who could suspect that these two fill find each other in this shit hole and, despite the war, blood and pain, were able to be at last a bit happy? That was a true wonder, but perhaps that was the meaning of life - no matter how hard the situation could be, it will always find a way to manifest it's grace.  
"That... That's strange." Sniper scratched his neck, looking at his team-mates hesitantly. "What we're gonna do nou?"  
"Go home, I guess?" Heavy shrugged, but smile on his broad face warmed their hearts. "To our families and friends?"  
"Hudda-hudda?" Pyro seemed to be a bit sad.  
"YOU CAN GO WTH ME, PRIVATE." Solly took his helmet off. "I THINK MERRY WILL BE HAPPY TO HAVE SUCH NICE YOUNG PERSON IN HIS HOUSE. YOU KNOW, TO MAKE HIM FEEL BETTER WHEN I DO SOMETHING WRONG."  
"Hudda!" Firefly hugged him enthusiastically, dropping flame-thrower on the floor.  
"So... What about us, dad?" Scout turned to his parent. "We're comin' home? I mean me, you and Demo?"  
"I think... It's a wonderful idea."  
That... That was something worth fighting for. There was nothing more than being surrounded by friends and family. All of them were safe and sound, and free to go.  
And he was so happy to have all of that.


End file.
